Warning in White
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Entry for the NFA Urban Legends Challenge. Tim-centered with lots of Gibbs and some Ducky and Jimmy...and a bit of the rest of the team. Summary: Tim picks up a hitchhiker and throws his life into chaos. Already complete. Will post one chapter per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I was looking through my story folder and I realized that I never posted this one over here, even though it's been complete for months. So...here it is. My entry for the NFA Urban Legends challenge. It's a story based in the supernatural and Tim-centered. Tim picks up a hitchhiker on his way to Ohio to visit his family and she throws his life into chaos, putting not only Tim's life in danger but also his sanity.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine! Not mine! ...and I'm not making money off it.

* * *

**Warning in White  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

Tim felt awful. Not sick to one's stomach, going to embarrass oneself by puking into the nearest garbage can (or not) awful. Just...awful. He was staring at a letter. A rejection letter. The one thing he needed to do was make sure that no one else saw it. Why had he put his work address on the form? Why? There was nothing for it but to pretend that he hadn't seen it. Go through the day without thinking about it.

No one would...

"What you got there, Probie?"

Hands swiped it out of his own. There was no use saying it was nothing. That never worked. Tony would only regard it as a challenge. ...but nothing would preserve what little dignity he had in this case.

"Nothing, Tony. Please, give it back."

"'Dear Mr. McGee..." He looked up, eyes alight with mischief. This meant absolutely nothing to him but another chance to tease. Tim knew he didn't mean it with malice, but it irritated him that Tony didn't seem to care that it might _not_ be simple harmless teasing from the point of view of the one on the receiving end. "Mr. McGee? Since when are you a mister?"

"Tony..."

"'Pursuant to your application of May fifteenth.' Pursuant? What is this thing, Probie?"

"Give it to me," Tim said, but without any sort of energy. It was a hopeless case and hardly worth trying to do anything about it.

"'We regret to inform you that while we appreciate your eagerness in applying, we had a number of excellent applicants this year and with few spots open, you will not be awarded a spot in the upcoming conference. We thank you for your interest in the Journal of Computer Forensics and in joining the panel and encourage you to reapply when the panel is held again in two years.'"

Tim didn't sigh audibly, although he did inwardly. He hated hearing the words, no matter how dressed up they were. More than that, he hated seeing Tony's face. When he got like this, all he cared about was rubbing salt in the wound.

"Guess you should have spent more time on your job than plunking on that typewriter, Mr. Gemcity."

Tim didn't reply. It never helped. He couldn't let Tony know how much this had disappointed him, how sure he'd been that he'd be accepted, how devastating it was to be rejected, particularly in the only area in which he truly felt he excelled at NCIS.

He'd been so sure that he'd already requested the time off. As Tony continued to razz him about his rejection letter, Tim felt his face grow hot at the memory of his own misplaced confidence...and the memory of why he had chosen to have the letter sent to NCIS. It was because he'd been sure he'd be accepted and then could show Abby...and, yes, boast about it to Tony and Ziva.

Now, all that was so much chaff in the wind. Not even that much...because it had never even existed. It was _imaginary_ chaff.

_Thwack!_

Tim jumped and rubbed his head, knowing that he was in for it with Gibbs now.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"You planning on sitting here all day or getting some work done?"

That Tony was also rubbing his head, that he had somehow managed to replace Tim's letter on his desk without Tim knowing didn't make Tim feel any better.

"Getting work done, Boss."

"Good."

Tim avoided everyone for the rest of the day, although he couldn't help hearing Tony telling Ziva and Abby with glee about the letter. They had both been sympathetic, but that didn't make him feel any better either.

He just felt humiliated, mostly because of his own hubris.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Better luck in two years, McReject!" Tony called out gaily to Tim's departing back. Tim didn't turn around to reply, didn't even acknowledge that the words had been said. When he felt someone coming up behind him, he decided to take the stairs.

"Hey, McGee!"

It was still Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony. Tony, who hadn't been able to stop tormenting him all day. Tim knew what was coming next. Tony would realize that he'd gone too far and try to take it back. Well, Tim didn't want that either. He didn't want Tony's pity, especially not when it would last about as long as an ice cube in a hot oven. It was about the only thing that was worse than Tony's teasing. Instead, Tim increased his pace, sprinted down the stairs and outside before he could reprove himself for acting like a child. He had the beginning of next week off. He'd go home and visit his parents. They'd like that. Maybe he could sit in on a couple of his dad's lectures.

Yeah. That sounded good. Home for a visit. He hadn't been to Ohio in ages. Sometimes, his job took over his entire life. It wasn't a bad thing but he did miss his family on occasion.

He got in his car with no further interactions with Tony and headed home. It was late to start back but he would prefer it to facing a possible break-in from a well-meaning sometimes-friend. Decision made, he packed a bag and headed out. He called his parents and told them to expect to hear the door at about three in the morning and then he left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're out and about pretty late, son," the gas station attendant commented.

"Yeah, headed home. Got a late start."

"That's $40.35 total."

Tim paid for his gas, his coffee and some snacks.

"Keep your eyes open. You never know what you'll find on the roads at this time of night."

"I plan on it," Tim said with a smile, tipping the coffee in the attendant's direction.

"Drive safe!"

"I will. Good night!"

Restocked and gassed up, Tim got in his car and resumed his trek, leaving the small town of Hancock, Maryland, behind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The person walking along the side of the road nearly scared him out of his wits. It seemed like she had come out of nowhere, walking just off the shoulder in her white dress, with her dark hair blowing in the wind and obscuring her face. Tim automatically slowed down when he saw the telltale sign of a hitchhiker.

He'd been going fast enough that he hadn't been able to stop right where she was, but he pulled over and looked in the rearview mirror. She was running to catch up. Backing up would be unsafe, even when it was after eleven, closing in on midnight.

He rolled down the window as she approached.

"Hey, I guess you want a ride?" he asked, feeling that, on the whole, he'd had better opening lines.

She smiled, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Yes. Please. You're the only person who has stopped here all night."

"Get in."

"Gladly." She opened the door and settled down on the seat, putting on her seatbelt and sighing with relief.

"I'm Tim," he said, holding out his hand.

"Gwen," she replied, giving it a firm shake.

Putting his car back in gear, Tim checked behind him and then maneuvered back onto the road. "Where are you headed, Gwen?"

"Athens, Ohio, if you've ever heard of it."

"Well, that's exactly where I'm headed! What a coincidence."

"Wow. Really? You from there?"

"Sort of. We moved there after my dad retired from the Navy. You?"

"I have a few friends there, but I haven't been back in years."

"What put you on the road in Maryland?"

"My car went kaput and I thought that I'd be like the people in all those books, hitchhiking my way to my destination." She groaned and leaned over to massage her feet. "It works much better in fiction, let me tell you."

Tim laughed.

"You're not very well dressed for a walk like that."

Gwen grimaced. "I know. Would you believe that this is all I had to wear?"

"What about your friends in Athens?"

"Well...they..." She looked out the window. "They don't really know I'm coming. It's been a long time."

"You want to talk about it?"

She shook her head and shivered. "No."

"Oh, hey. You must be cold. That dress would not keep out the wind."

"I'm okay."

"No. Really. You should have a jacket. Or I could turn on the heat."

"You don't need the heat on. I'm okay."

"Please." Tim reached back and pulled out his suit coat. "It'll drown you, but you can warm up."

She resisted for a few seconds before smiling and capitulating.

"You're such a gentleman, Tim."

Tim flushed. "My mother would be happy to hear that."

"My mom would...well, it's been a long day for me. Do you mind if I get some shut-eye?"

"Not at all. I'll try not to sing and burst your eardrums."

Gwen laughed. "I find it hard to believe that you're bad at anything, Tim. You have a nice car, which indicates a steady income. You're cute and you probably have everything set out before you on a silver platter."

Tim's smile faded. "You couldn't be more wrong. I'm not a very good singer. I'll try to keep quiet."

Gwen cocked her head to one side. "What did I say, Tim?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm just overly sensitive at the moment."

"Tell me about it."

"You said you were tired."

"I can sleep anytime. Believe me. I'll have plenty of time for sleep when I get to Athens."

Tim smiled at her, although he caught the sadness in her eyes.

"You're not happy about going back there, are you."

"Not really, but that's li–...what I have to do. Tell me."

Tim hesitated but then found himself telling her of the events of the last few days, his growing excitement about this conference, his pride, his subsequent rejection and the sapping of his ego by Tony's callous remarks. The miles passed, mostly unnoticed. Gwen was a good listener. She didn't say much, but her eyes were always on Tim, always listening. She didn't seem tired at all, just attentive. There was actually something a little unnerving about her attention because it never wavered. Her eyes were such that she dragged all Tim's own worries, his self-deprecation, his criticism out of him, almost as if she was collecting everything he said. Midnight came and went, as did one a.m. and then two.

"We're getting closer to Athens. Where should I drop you off?"

Gwen looked out the window once more. "You're a good man, Tim. I didn't think there were any good men left in this world, but you are."

Tim hitched a shoulder uncomfortably. He didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm actually a bit closer to Grosvenor. Can you go out that way?"

"Of course. North or south of 56?"

"North. You know 682?"

"Absolutely."

They fell silent, a strange feeling of anticipation in the air. It made Tim a little uncomfortable again, but he could think of nothing to dispel it.

Finally, he saw Athens coming up.

"Almost there, Gwen."

"Yes. I loved this place once. Not anymore."

"Gwen, what's wrong?"

"Remember to get off at 56."

She fell silent again and would only stare out the window. Her hair once again falling over her face.

A few more minutes passed and Tim got off highway 32, then off of 56. It was a sparsely populated area. Gwen sat up straight in her seat.

"Stop here."

"Here?" Tim looked around. "There's nothing out here, Gwen. That's not safe."

"How much do you want me to pay you?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"No, Tim. I should pay you for the gas at least."

"No," Tim said firmly. "I don't need the money and you probably do. I couldn't take anything from you."

"I have to repay you somehow."

"No. Really. You listened to me talk. That was enough."

She smiled again, very sadly. "Then, I'll tell you your future."

"What?"

She fixed her eyes on him again. They were a pale gray, and they seemed almost to glow in the street lamps.

"You will face a terrible danger which could lead to death, Tim. Your decision to move right or left could mean the difference between success and failure."

Part of Tim scoffed at her words, but trapped as he was in the gaze of those gray eyes, he found it hard not to believe her.

"Whose death?" he whispered.

"Yours, but you will face more than that. You will be the key to success or failure. When you see the light flashing on the spray from the fountain, your team will depend on you. You have told me of your fears. You will need to forget them in the moment of decision. A man will aim a gun at you and it will take _you_ to stop the worst from happening."

Gwen turned away from him, opening the car door. As she stepped out, Tim reached for her...

...and she disappeared.

"Gwen?"

Tim opened his own car door and looked around. There was no sign of her lithe, white figure. No sign of anyone.

No sign.

Tim's eyes widened.

"Gwen?" he called, but it was barely above a whisper. The closest streetlight was a couple hundred feet down the road, its light a pale reflection of the moon overhead.

"Gwen?"

"...anyone there?"

Thoroughly spooked, Tim walked around to the other side of his car, where the passenger door stood open. Then, he looked off into the bushes and trees near the road. He thought he saw a flash of white. He ran.

"Gwen!"

The trees pulled at his clothes as the wind began to pick up. Suddenly, he was in a clearing. He saw nothing at first...and turned around and around in circles.

Then...there it was.

The statue had moss growing over it, but it was remarkably lifelike, carved out of white marble. There was no name on it, no plaque saying who it was...but Tim knew.

It was Gwen.

He looked around, feeling a sense that he was intruding and a flash of light caught his eye. He whirled around.

"Who's there?"

"Is this your car on the road, sir?"

Tim took a few steps toward the voice, recognizing the authority in it.

"Yes. Yes, that's mine," he said distractedly, looking back over his shoulder. "I saw...I saw..."

"A woman in a white dress?"

Tim whipped his head back around. "What did you say?"

"You saw a woman in a white dress?"

"Yes. How did you–?"

"It's happened at least once a year for the last twenty years...as far as I know. It was big news the first few times. Now, no one pays much attention."

Tim walked further and saw a police officer standing in the trees, pointing a flashlight at him.

"Who is she?" he asked, still glancing back over his shoulder.

"She's...the woman in white. That statue there."

"But where did that statue come from?"

"Who knows? We get people coming in here to test it every so often. It's Yule marble like they quarry out in Colorado, but it's been here for a long time."

"I talked to her. She wasn't a statue."

The flashlight was lifted a bit higher and Tim shaded his eyes.

"You been drinking, sir?"

"No! I was driving home to see my family. I picked her up, dropped her off right here. She...disappeared." Tim turned back once more. "She said..."

"What?"

Tim suddenly realized that he was talking like a crazy man...and he wasn't even sure he had seen what he thought he saw. Maybe he'd just been so tired that...

_...that I hallucinated a woman sitting in my car for the last three hours? That I gave her my..._

"Nothing really. I just thought..."

"It's late, sir. Perhaps you should head home."

"Maybe you're right." Tim couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the statue. It looked so forlorn. So sad. So...lonely.

"Sir?"

A hand on his arm finally distracted him.

"Sir, it's best if you just come away. The people who see her have a hard time leaving. I been on this road for a long time. I know how it works."

Tim allowed himself to be directed back through the trees.

"No one has ever spoken to her before?"

"Not anyone who's admitted it...but they all seem to get here at about the same time. Some are just passing through, some not. All young guys like yourself."

Tim looked back once more.

"She said her name was Gwen."

"You probably just need some sleep, sir. Can you make it back home?"

"Yeah. I'm not far. I don't feel tired."

Tim reached his car and closed the passenger door.

_I didn't open that door myself. ...and where's my suit jacket? I know I had that, too. She was here. ...but who is she?_

"I'll be fine, officer. Thanks for...checking."

"My job. Especially at this time of year. Just watch out. Keep your eyes open."

Tim cocked his head just a little at those words but didn't say anything. Instead, he got into his car and headed to his parents' home. He hoped that he could forget what had happened...

...but he wasn't sure he could forget Gwen's warning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Wednesday morning..._

Tim woke up feeling odd and wondered why, but then he remembered...

...he'd been dreaming of Gwen again. She wouldn't leave him alone. He found himself watching for her...but never actually seeing her there. Gwen, with her white dress and pale eyes. He had thought they were gray when he had seen them before, but in his dreams, her eyes had been a shining white.

Her voice, speaking the same warning she'd given him on the side of the road near Athens, wove in and out of his dreams, coupled with images of the sunlight sparkling through a large fountain. The water had become blood.

Well, it was just a dream, but Tim knew he'd be watching for that scene everywhere he went today...and probably for a long time after that. He didn't want to see it come true.

Tim had spent a large portion of his visit with his parents looking for information on who Gwen was because no one seemed to know who was depicted in that statue, nor even how long the statue had been around. Searches on the internet had turned up a few different ghost-story sites with different theories. One site featured a supposed source with the exact same interactions (albeit with some rather questionable additions), but there was no name listed and the contact information was out of date.

When he got out to his car, what he saw on the driver's seat gave him a jolt. His jacket...the one he had loaned to Gwen. It was sitting on his seat, folded neatly. He gulped and looked around. No one was there. He swallowed again and moved it over onto the passenger side. It made him shake a little to see it. It made everything more real.

_Forget about it, Tim. Probably a coincidence. You left it there and forgot._

If only he really believed that.

Now, he had to get to work and hope that Tony had forgotten last week's disappointment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, McSulker. How was your vacation?"

Tim took a deep breath and determined that he would not rise to Tony's bait. If that blood he'd seen in his dream was Tony's, he was tempted to let it spill.

"Tony, how many fountains are there in DC?"

The question actually pulled Tony up short. "What?"

"Fountains. How many are there?"

"Lots. Why?"

"No reason." Tim sat down and started making a list of all the fountains he could think of.

"You pouting all weekend?"

"I went home for a visit," Tim said in a monotone. _And I gave a ride to a woman who wasn't really there._

"To sulk?"

"No. I didn't."

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss," Tony said and sat down again, ostensibly working.

"McGee, these are all urgent," Gibbs said, thrusting a file at him.

"Yes, Boss." Tim closed down his search for fountains and began searching through the data from Intel. He wondered briefly if anyone had even actually missed him but dismissed the thought and worked. He liked his coworkers (usually), but at the end of the day, they were just coworkers (mostly).

"Good morning, McGee. Did you have a nice vacation?" Ziva asked as she came in.

Tim lifted his eyes and smiled. "Yeah. A bit of a weird weekend but it was good to go home."

"Weird, how?"

"Just..." _Why did you say that, Tim? Are you nuts?_ "...just, you know, it's been a while since I took a vacation. Felt kind of strange not to be working."

"You should make sure to take more vacations."

"I think McGeek already takes enough time off to write about us, Officer David," Tony said. "I don't think he needs a vacation. Besides, if he could actually focus on his work, maybe he'd do better at–"

_Thwack!_

"Back to work, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

"Yes, Boss."

He turned his glare on Tim and Ziva. "Do I need to wake you two up as well?"

"No, Gibbs. I am quite awake."

"No, Boss."

He stalked to his desk and sat down, giving them all _looks_. Tim got the message and everything was quiet for the next hour.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Let's go!" Gibbs said, hanging up the phone.

They reached for their bags.

"No. I did not say gear up. I said let's go!"

With a few glances among them, the team grabbed their guns and ran after Gibbs who was already at the elevator.

"What's going on, Boss?"

"Got a shooter. A SEAL."

"Where?"

"The World War II Memorial on the Mall."

The elevator doors opened and they were out of the building, into the car and off the Yard in seconds. Gibbs was driving fast. It wasn't far to the Mall, but time was definitely of the essence.

"Why haven't they taken him out already?" Tony asked. "That memorial doesn't exactly have a lot of places to hide. It's mostly that big fountain in the center. Shouldn't he be a sitting duck? So to speak?"

"He's wired and says he has a dead man's switch. No one is willing to test it while he has people in there."

"How many has he already killed?" Ziva asked.

"Four bodies. No word yet on whether or not they're fatalities."

Tim gulped. A fountain.

_Get a grip, Tim. You couldn't even verify that it happened at all!_

No one seemed to notice Tim's silence, but they were all tense, nervous...worried about what they might have to do.

_It can't really be up to me. This can't really rely on my decision. I don't make decisions. I just follow orders. Right? Right._

The Mall was less than a minute away. They had to be on the top of their game. This guy had hostages but Tim was sure he could keep his cool. There was only one thing that would really shake him now...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He's got about twenty people down there," the officer reported. "Called out that he had a bomb strapped to his chest and that he'd kill everyone if he was shot down."

"Visual confirmation of an explosive?" Tony asked.

"Only that his jacket is bulky and _could_ be hiding a bomb. Other than that..."

"What does he want?"

"He hasn't said _what_ he wants yet," the officer said. "It's like he wants the attention but doesn't know what to do with it. It doesn't look good, Agent Gibbs. We were hoping that the Navy police might be able to find an inroad we've missed."

"We'll see." Gibbs scanned the area. "You have snipers in place?"

"Yeah...for all the good that does us right now."

"Okay. Make sure they don't shoot one of us by accident."

The officer smiled tightly. "Will do."

As they walked away, Gibbs looked around. "DiNozzo, David. You two circle around to the Atlantic side. McGee, you take the Pacific. I'll go in the main entrance and try and talk to him. Keep in contact at all times and don't move in unless I say."

"Out of sight?" Ziva asked.

"No. Don't try. He knows we're coming. He might as well know we're here." Gibbs looked around one more time and then glanced at Ziva. "Except you. You keep out of sight, out of mind. Get where you have a clear shot. _But_...do _not_ engage unless I give the order."

"What is the kill word?"

"I'll give you the order, David. If I tell you to kill him, do it. Otherwise, don't. Now, go!"

They scattered. Tim headed for the Pacific side and planted himself in a position where he could both see and be seen. ...but then, he saw something that put everything else out of his head.

"Help!"

A dark-haired girl moved toward him, almost involuntarily, calling for her brother to save her.

"Sarah," he whispered, feeling an almost physical pain at the knowledge that his sister was one of the hostages.

There was a voice in his ear, but he couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything besides the sound of the fountains and his sister screaming his name.

"Stay where you are!"

Sarah stopped moving, but she was turned toward him and Tim suddenly realized he was not staying in place. He was moving, moving towards his sister, moving toward the group of hostages...moving toward the SEAL who had taken them hostage. A warning shot went over his head, but Tim only slowed down. He didn't stop.

"Stay back, cop!"

"What's your name?" Tim heard himself ask. He looked across the fountain toward the entrance where Gibbs was standing. The sunlight sparkled through the water of the fountain and a stab of fear pierced his heart.

_Oh, no. I'm in big trouble now._

"What business is it of yours?"

"I'm Agent McGee. I just want to talk. I want to understand what you're doing."

"Don't you get it? I don't want to _talk_!"

"Then, what _do_ you want?" Tim moved closer. He could see the terrified expression on Sarah's face. She and all the hostages were standing in the fountain itself. Tim could see the bodies, staining the memorial with blood. He hoped they weren't dead. "Do you really want to kill all these people?" Tim pointed at the hostages. He noticed that the man didn't seem disposed to look at them.

"Did you really want to hurt the people over there?" Tim pointed at the bodies. One was moving feebly. "Do you want them to die? Is that what a SEAL does?"

Again, the man didn't look at the results of what he'd done. Tim himself couldn't let himself look at Sarah. He didn't want to tip off the man that he had someone close to Tim among his hostages.

"Please, sir. Please, let them go. I'll stay and talk to you. Let them go and let them help the ones who are hurt."

The man hesitated.

"I promise that I'll stay. Let them go and talk to me."

"_McGee, what in the world do you think you're doing?"_

Tim gulped as he finally heard sounds outside of the world near the fountain. He figured that his actions, regardless of the outcome, would result in him getting fired. This was a stupid thing to do...and yet, it seemed like the only thing to do.

The man met Tim's gaze and held it for a long moment and then he nodded.

"Not all," he said and pointed to about ten people in the group. "You go and get the others on your way out." More than ten began moving. "Only them! The rest of you stay put!"

Tim saw that Sarah was not one of the hostages being released but no matter how she caught his eye, he knew he couldn't suggest her.

"_You ever hear the expression heads will roll, Ziva? I believe that describes what's going to happen to the Probie...if this guy doesn't kill him first."_

Tim tried not to react but he really wished that Tony would shut up. He already knew he'd made a huge mistake. He hardly needed to hear threats against his life from the people supposedly on his side.

"_DiNozzo, I swear to God that if you don't shut up right now _your_ head will roll!"_

Tim watched with as much calm as he could muster while people ran out of the memorial. He could see the guns all aimed down this way and knew that he'd have to do a darn good job of talking (something that had never been his strong suit) in order to keep anyone from getting killed.

"Okay, they're gone. You drop your gun and we can talk."

"_Don't you put down your gun, McGee."_

"What's your name?"

"Put down your gun!"

"Name first," Tim countered.

"Joshua. Put down your gun or I'll...kill one of the hostages!"

Tim held out his hands and slowly crouched down, placing his gun carefully on the ground.

"_McGee, are you deaf? Or are you just stupid?"_

"Now, take out the earwig. I'm not stupid! I can see it and I know you're listening to your teammates."

"How am I supposed to tell them what you want if I can't talk to them?"

"If we get that far, you can tell them. Take it out."

Tim nodded and removed the earwig, cutting off a rather creative string of profanities as he once again disobeyed a direct order.

"It's out."

"Good. Come over here."

Tim walked closer.

"What do you want, Joshua?"

"I want to be known. Can you do that? Can you make me more known than I am right now? Do you know how many people probably are looking at me?"

"Do you know how many guns are probably aimed at you right now?" Tim countered. He looked back and saw Gibbs still standing in his same position.

"You're not acting like much of a negotiator, you know."

"I'm not a negotiator."

"What are you?"

"I'm an NCIS Special Agent." There was a brief shadow as a cloud passed over the sun. When the sun peeked out once more, Tim was momentarily dazzled by the reflection of the sunlight off the water in the fountain. He looked around and thought he saw a woman in white standing near the stars marking the fallen.

"What are you looking at?"

Tim wrenched his attention back on Joshua. "I'm looking at this memorial and wondering why you came here of all places to get noticed. Why are you defacing a memorial to your fallen comrades by threatening to kill innocent people? What do you think they were fighting for in World War II? What would they think of you if they could see what you're doing?"

"What do _you_ know? You aren't a military guy!"

Tim took a small step to the right, placing himself between Joshua and hostages. He also took a small step forward.

"I know that Navy SEALs aren't supposed to hurt innocent people. I know that when they were officially organized in 1961, they were made up of men who had experience already in fighting...and they weren't killing unarmed civilians! ...and they weren't in it for the glory!"

"I don't _want_ glory!" Joshua spat. "I want to be _known_! That's what I want. I don't want to be praised. I'm tired of being forgotten! I'm tired of people looking at me with disgust! These are the people _I_ defended at all costs...and they treat me like I'm dirt! I'm tired of that!"

"Did _these_ people treat you that way?" Tim asked. "Can you look at them and say that they did?"

He took another small step. He was wearing a vest, but he wondered just what this guy might do. There was something in his eyes that was rather frightening. If it wasn't for that switch in his left hand, Tim was sure that Joshua would already be dead. As it was, no one would risk killing him while there were civilians in harm's way.

"It doesn't matter. Did they even care? Can you tell me that they actually cared?"

"No, I can't. Do you think this will make them care? If you kill them, will they have a chance to change their minds?"

Another step. _It will take you to stop the worst from happening._

"What have you ever given up?" Joshua shouted. He pointed his gun toward the hostages who flinched away. "What have any of _them_ ever given up?"

"I may have just given up my job by coming in here."

"What?"

Tim steeled himself to stare straight at Joshua, holding his attention, staring in those frightening eyes.

"I wasn't supposed to come. I was supposed to stay up and keep you in my sights. That's it."

"Why did you come down then?"

"Because there are things more important than keeping my job. There are things more important than my life."

"Like what?"

"Like saving the life of others. You're right. I was never in the military. I went to MIT. I'm a computer geek. I don't know what it's like to be in combat. My dad was Navy, but I never was. ...but I'm here trying to stop anyone from dying and you're the one trying to kill."

"I'm not."

Tim lost it, just briefly. "You've got a gun!" he shouted. "You shot people! You have a bomb strapped to your chest! What do you _think_ you're trying to do?"

To his surprise, Joshua looked ashamed.

"I just..."

"Just nothing, Joshua! You came to a memorial built to honor the sacrifices of those who came before and you attacked! That's what _terrorists_ do! That's not what SEALs do!" Tim wasn't thinking. He wasn't letting himself be afraid. He remembered what Gwen had said to him, that he had to put aside his fears. All he wanted was to save his sister...the others were important, too, but it really boiled down to Sarah being in danger. "You want to prove that you're worth attention? Let all these people go and deal with me! You ready for that?"

Joshua hesitated.

"Make a decision, Joshua! I'm not backing off! I'm not going to let you take control through a threat!"

Tim held his breath and hoped that, if he managed to survive this day, he'd still have a job.

To be honest, he wasn't so sure about that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_I'm going to kill him myself. No, I'm going to ream him and then I'll kill him. I'll make him wish he'd never been born._ Gibbs ranted to himself even as he kept his voice calm, as he controlled the responses of Tony and Ziva, both understandably upset that Tim had, for some inexplicable reason, put himself in the hands of their shooter.

"_Is he out of his mind, Boss? What is McGee doing?"_

"He's negotiating, DiNozzo. He's already got him to release half the hostages."

"_Except for him, Gibbs. This is utterly irresponsible and dangerous. What is wrong with McGee?"_

"Just wait. He's managed to talk his way out of a tight spot before."

"_Yeah, but this...this guy could kill a lot more than just him if he goes nutso."_

Gibbs watched and thought he caught a glimpse of the reason for Tim's behavior. A flash of curly brown hair, a thin face marked by large eyes. _Sarah McGee?_ He couldn't be sure. The woman was mostly hidden behind one of the fountains.

He said nothing about it, but even if he could understand Tim's anxiety, the fact that he'd ignored every piece of common sense about negotiating made it absolutely certain that he was going to be in danger of killing his agent once this thing was over.

He almost smiled when he heard Tim's voice, raised in fury berating the man who was holding a gun on him. Only Tim (and probably Ducky) would take the time to lecture someone on their behavior when that someone was ready to kill them. He suppressed the urge to smile and remembered that he was going to kill Tim later. The anger was a good way to keep his anxiety away. He couldn't help wondering if this was Tim's way of making up for his rejection letter last week. If so, he would explain very clearly why that was an idiotic move.

"_What should we do, Boss?"_

"The same thing you'd do if it was me down there. Watch and wait."

"_Yes, but this is McGee. He is not trained and he has no way of communicating with us."_

"He's not helpless, Ziva. He knows what to do." _Even if he's not doing it. He does know._

"_I hope you are right, Gibbs...because there are still many more people down there and I would not like to have their deaths blamed on NCIS."_

"Just wait and see. We can't do anything else right now."

"_Can I just shoot McGee myself, Boss?"_

Gibbs didn't bother to answer. Suddenly, the rest of the hostages, except for Tim, were running through the fountain, headed toward him. They didn't stop, not even when they reached him. There were two children holding tightly to the arms of the woman he thought was Sarah McGee, but again, he didn't really get a chance to see her clearly and his eyes were mostly on Tim who hadn't moved much. He was standing almost motionless, his gun on the ground, his arms spread out to show that he was unarmed.

_Well, he's got the stance right,_ Gibbs grumbled to himself.

"_Looks like Probie got the others out. Now, can we kill him, Boss?"_

Gibbs knew why Tony was talking this way. He was worried. So was Gibbs, but having Tony's irritating comments in his ear really didn't help. Not at all.

"Go ahead, DiNozzo. Just shoot your teammate," he snapped back.

The silence was gratifying.

"Come on, McGee," he said softly. "What are you doing?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, they're gone! I let them go. Now, what?"

Tim wasn't sure himself, truth be told. _I don't know what I'm doing here! Don't ask me!_

"Now...we talk. What did you think you'd accomplish here? Why did you come with a bomb?" Tim looked down at the ground. His gun was to the left, the fountain to the right.

_Your decision to move right or left could mean the difference between success and failure._

"I just...I wanted people to listen."

"Joshua, when you want people to listen, you have to _say_ something. Shooting them and threatening to blow them up is not saying something."

Joshua was probably in his forties, but at that moment, Tim thought he looked a lot younger than that. He seemed almost bewildered...and sad.

"No one listened when I actually spoke."

Tim looked down at his feet again, staring at the choice that lay before him. Right or left? He could try and shoot the guy or he could try to get away from him by running into the fountain. ...but now, he didn't want to shoot him. He didn't want Joshua to die. He wanted him to get help.

Tim pitied him.

"How is this going to end?" Joshua asked.

"That depends on you. It's all on you. There are lots of ways it could end."

"I'm going to die, aren't I."

"You don't have to."

"I don't really have a bomb. I just figured that no one would listen if they didn't have to."

"What's that in your hand then?"

"It's from my old Nintendo controller. I spray-painted it black...attached a wire to it."

"What about the gun?"

"That's real."

"I know." Tim was fully aware of how real it was. ...but now, he felt better knowing that no matter how badly he had screwed up, Joshua wouldn't be killing anyone besides himself and/or Tim. That wasn't _exactly_ a comforting thought, but it was better than nothing.

"What do you want to do?" Tim asked.

"I want people to know."

"What do you want people to know?"

"That we're doing our best, that there are so many things that we could be doing with our lives and that we chose to fight for our country. The least they could do is show some support, show some willingness to help us recover when we come back. I did good things out there...but I came back and was thrown out like trash."

"That's wrong, Joshua. You shouldn't have had to face that."

"And look what I did. I killed people, just like you said." He brought the gun to his head.

"No, Joshua!" Tim took a step forward. "No, don't! Please, don't!"

"Why not? Why do you care? You're just a cop. You don't really care about me."

"I do care about you, Joshua. I care about anyone who has fought for the country. Why do you think I work for NCIS? I didn't have to do that. I could have gone anywhere. I could be making lots of money in computers if I wanted to. I want to be helping people...people like the hostages you released...people like you."

The gun stayed where it was. _...keep the worst from happening..._

"Please, Joshua. Listen to me. You need help. I want to help you. I don't want you to die."

"You could get to your gun, you know. I'm sure you're pretty fast."

"Why would I do that?"

"So that you could go home."

"I don't want to do that, not if it means someone else has to die."

Joshua looked at him, and his eyes had tears in them. Then, he looked around.

"I don't have a bomb!" he shouted, throwing the Nintendo controller to the ground. "I don't have a bomb! I'm going to kill the cop!" He turned the gun toward Tim...but Tim could see that it was aimed to the side of him, not _at_ him.

"No!" Tim shouted. He caught a glimpse of a gun behind them and without thinking, he launched himself at Joshua, knocking him to the ground just as a bullet screamed over their heads. He grabbed for the gun in Joshua's hand and it went off. Once. Twice. Three times. Tim felt a flash of fire on his arm, but he didn't let go.

_...forget them in the moment of decision..._

He held on grimly as Joshua struggled against him.

"I won't let you do this, Joshua."

Finally, he managed to wrench the gun away from Joshua and throw it into the fountain. Joshua was crying as Tim turned him over onto his stomach.

"Joshua, just let us help you. You don't have to die."

"There's nothing else!"

"There's more. There's life! There's living and you can make sure that people understand! That's what you wanted, right? That's what you need to do. Please, don't let this be the end, Joshua!"

Joshua went limp and Tim held onto him, hoping that this was the end.

Tony, Ziva and Gibbs ran in from different locations at the memorial and converged on Tim and Joshua. Gibbs gave a glare worthy of a Gorgon and Tim was amazed that he didn't turn to stone...but Gibbs didn't say anything. He just shoved Tim out of the way. Tony spoke for him.

"McGee, could you _be_ more of an idiot?"

"Thanks, Tony," Tim mumbled.

"What were you thinking, McGee?" Ziva demanded.

Tim didn't bother to answer. He didn't see that they really cared to hear anything from him. He was looking at Joshua, filled with regret that this man had ruined his life because no one cared about him. Joshua met his gaze and Tim saw something there. The sun was sparkling through the fountain again. He shook his head at Joshua.

"No."

There was a pause, a moment when Tim had the time to read exactly what was going to happen if he didn't stop it. Joshua wanted to go out. He didn't want to fight for his cause. He wanted to die. He didn't care what it took...even if it meant killing someone.

_Gwen said that my team would depend on me._

"No, Joshua!" he shouted, just as the man broke free of Gibbs' grasp, reaching for his gun. He saw the gun pull around toward him.

_Your decision to move right or left will mean the difference between success and failure._

..._but why right or left? Why not forward?_ Tim asked himself.

Everyone was clumped together, everyone was too close. A single gunshot, a single shift could mean the difference between life and death for any one of them. Tim wasn't ready to have that on his conscience.

He leapt forward, shoving Tony and Gibbs out of the way. He heard a faint splash as one of them landed in the fountain.

A shot rang out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Joshua fell to the ground, bleeding from the chest. Tim hit the ground and rolled tail over tea kettle, landed on his back and lay there, stunned. He breathed in and out through his mouth, convincing himself that he was still alive.

Then, water was dripping over him and he saw Gibbs, soaking wet from his trip into the fountain (_of course, it would be Gibbs. How could this be any worse for me?_), looming over him, looking nothing short of furious.

"You all right, Boss?" Tim asked.

That should have opened the flood gates. It probably would have if Gibbs hadn't had at least a few brain cells devoted to thinking about maintaining NCIS' reputation. Reaming his agent, who had just saved a bunch of people, probably wouldn't look good.

"You, me. The conference room. As soon as we get back, McGee. You skip out. You even _think_ of skipping out, you're through."

_I'm not already?_ Tim wondered, but had sense enough not to say the words aloud.

Gibbs turned and walked away, allowing Tim the luxury of sitting up. What he saw made his heart twist with regret. Joshua was on the ground. There were a couple of officers trying CPR, but it was a lost cause. It probably had been for a long time before this even happened. It was wrong when things ended this way. He ignored Gibbs' glare. He ignored Ziva and Tony ranting at him.

His arm was smarting, but no one seemed to have noticed it and so he didn't worry about it either. Instead, he screwed up his courage to talk to Gibbs once more.

"Boss?"

"What."

"Sarah's all right?"

Gibbs looked at him...still with anger but also with a hint of understanding.

"She looked fine to me."

"Thanks." Tim looked back at the fountain. No blood in there...but too much outside it.

_Did I keep the worst from happening? Did I do any good at all? If Gibbs had been negotiating, would he have been able to talk Joshua down without him dying? _

It just wasn't fair.

"McGee, you go."

"What?" Tim tore his gaze from the dead man whose blood now stained the ground.

"There are plenty of people here right now. You'll need to be debriefed later but for now, go." Gibbs pointed toward the entrance to the memorial.

Tim followed his pointing finger and nodded. He heard Tony still grumbling and wondered if he should have simply let Joshua shoot him instead. He didn't say anything, however, and left the scene behind him. As he reached the entrance, he heard a shrill voice.

"Timmy! Timmy!"

A blurred shape ran at him and before he knew it he was engulfed in a blanket and a pair of arms.

"Sarah, you all right?" He wrapped his own arms around her, only able to see her dark hair as she buried her head in his shoulder.

"Oh, Tim...I was...I saw you and I thought..."

"I've got you." He tightened his arms around her even as his left arm burned. He didn't care. Sarah was all right. That was all that mattered. "Don't worry, Sarah. Everything's fine."

"Miss, we really need you to come over here now."

Tim looked up and saw an approaching officer.

"She's my sister," he offered by way of explanation.

"I know. She insisted that she had to stay here and see if you were all right," the officer said. "Now, she's seen you and she needs to come with me."

Tim smiled and nodded, gently extricating himself from Sarah's grasp.

"Go on, Sarah. I'm fine. You're fine. I have to go back to NCIS today. Is there someone who can come and get you after?"

Sarah wiped her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Jeana has a car."

"Okay. If you want, I'll come and get you tonight and we can hang out."

She smiled. "Okay. That sounds good. I'll see you. You're all right?"

"I'm fine. So are you."

He watched the officer lead Sarah away, probably to take her statement and talk to a trauma counselor. His arm began to throb a little but he ignored it. He walked to the edge of the memorial and watched. Ducky had arrived at some point. He wasn't sure when. Time seemed to have all blurred together anyway. He saw Gibbs look over at him and he gulped uncomfortably.

"Hey, you the Navy cop?"

Tim turned away from the memorial.

"Yeah. I'm one of them. The rest of the team is down there."

The man wasn't a police officer. He was probably about the same age as Joshua...and Tim could see that indefinable air of military that career soldiers carried about them. He held out his hand.

"You're the one who talked him down, though, right?"

Tim blinked. This guy looked familiar somehow. He wasn't sure why.

"I tried to."

"Hey, I know he's dead...but...I gotta say that it was probably better like this."

"What?" Tim looked toward the memorial and then back at the man. He was not tall and he seemed older than Tim had thought at first.

"I was down there when he started shooting. Josh...he wouldn't have done that. He'd lost it. I hate to say it but he did. The Josh I knew wouldn't have wanted to hurt anyone for any reason."

"You were one of the hostages?"

"Yeah. Name's Woody...Woodcock, but I go by Woody. I don't think my parents were thinking clearly when they named me."

Tim managed a smile. "I'm sorry."

"Josh...he'd always been a bit off, you could say. He came back and things just didn't work for him. He wasn't right in the head after the Gulf and he refused to do anything about it. We tried to help him out...but it just wasn't enough."

"I could see it. I tried to stop him."

"You know what? You stopped him from killing anyone else. I know Josh. He would have been much worse if he had lived and known that someone died."

"Someone died?"

"Yeah. One of the people we tried to pull out. Didn't make it. It would have killed Josh to know that he'd done that." He sighed. "Anyway...I just wanted to thank you...for saving us...and for helping Josh."

"Yeah. I wish..."

"Yeah. We all do." Woody turned to leave.

Then, it clicked in Tim's brain and he blurted it out before he had time to think. "Are you from Hancock? In Maryland?"

"What?"

"Hancock, Maryland."

"My dad lived there for a long time, ran a gas station."

"I think I met him."

Woody's face turned confused. "I don't know how you could have. My dad died about twenty-five years ago. Armed robbery. Guys burst in and didn't care about an old man minding the till."

"I...I'm really sorry. I could have sworn..." _Maybe I've lost my mind._

"It's okay. It's happened once or twice before." He hesitated and then added, "Actually, Josh was one of them who did that. He said almost the same thing. It's how we met. He saw me in the barracks when I was first transferred to his unit. He'd come back off leave and he had filled up his car at my dad's gas station. It's a rundown lot now, no gas there." He laughed. "Josh kept insisting that it was the same guy, but I told him that it couldn't have been. I even took him to the lot on our next leave."

"Just off I-70?"

"Yeah. Josh was trying to tell me that he'd stopped there and it wasn't an empty lot when he'd come." His smile was sad. "Like I said, he was always a bit strange. He never really believed me, you know. ...and you'd think I'd know that my dad was dead."

Tim was lost in his memory of that night and only nodded vaguely.

"Anyway...I'm...I'm sorry that this went down like it did. I never knew what he'd planned."

"Have you made a statement yet?"

"No. I guess I'll need to, huh?"

"Yeah. I'd have you give me your contact information, but I didn't come with my bag."

"I talked with the police already...but I'll do it for NCIS, too, if you need me to."

"Probably will." He looked over and saw Gibbs coming toward him. "Actually, here comes my boss right now. He'll probably want to talk to you if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

"Boss, this is Woody. He's...he was friends with Joshua."

Gibbs nodded perfunctorily at Tim and his expression was patently one of dismissal. Tim smiled one last time at Woody and chose to go back into the memorial.

"Are you all right, Timothy?" Ducky asked as Tim returned to the scene.

"Fine, Ducky. I wish he'd made it out. He could have."

"Perhaps it was not what _he_ wished."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe Probie should count his lucky stars that he only wanted himself to die," Tony muttered.

Ducky looked at Tony surprise and then back at Tim who simply shrugged it off.

"You were uninjured?"

"Yeah. Just stunned myself after taking him down. Knocked the wind out of me."

"McGee, what were you thinking of when you came down here?" Ziva asked. She was no longer angry, merely asking...although a bit derogatorily.

"I wanted to save Sarah."

"Your sister was here?" Tony asked, surprised enough that he forgot to be nasty.

"Yes. She was one of the hostages." Tim watched as Ducky put Joshua into the body bag. There was a flash of light in his eyes and he looked around, thinking, for just a moment, that he'd seen a woman...in a white dress, standing in the fountain.

"McGee, are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." There was no one there. Had Joshua seen her as well?

"No thanks to you," Tony said, recovering his ill-humor.

Tim was barely listening. If he had been, he more than likely would have been highly annoyed at Tony, but as it was, he simply tuned him out. His arm was still throbbing, but he was still ignoring it. He didn't care about his arm. It was probably a bullet graze and it was more than likely a flesh wound. Beyond that, he wasn't bothering with it. He could bandage himself up later.

When Gibbs came back to gather them up to return to NCIS, he said nothing to Tim at all and Tim knew that he was just saving it up for a tirade later on. Really, Tim found that he didn't care about that either. There was only one thing on his mind. ...well, two things. Joshua and...

_...was she really there? Did I really see her? What about my jacket? ...and the gas station... What's going on?_

On the ride back, he was silent, not responding to anything be it questions or rants about his stupidity and how lucky he was that no one else had been killed and on and on. Part of him heard it, but another part was simply drifting through the noise, thinking only of the strange moments that had led to this point.

He didn't even notice when the accusations tapered off and were replaced by worried glances. He just couldn't pull his mind away from what had happened over the weekend...if it had happened at all. By the time they returned to NCIS, even Joshua had faded into the wash of background noise, things that touched on what was important, but weren't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Tim got out of the car and realized that he had no memory of the drive over. Gwen was taking over his every thought.

_Maybe this is what happened to Joshua. Maybe he saw her and she became his whole world. Maybe..._

"McGee, are you waiting for an invitation?"

Tim jumped and looked around, noticing that they had reached the bullpen. Gibbs was standing on the stairs, glaring at him again.

"No, Boss." He stood up and followed Gibbs, knowing what was coming. He stepped inside the conference room and sat down...and waited.

"You want to tell me what you thought you were doing back there, McGee?"

_No...because anything I could tell you would be likely dismissed as crazed ramblings...and who knows? Maybe they are..._

Tim remained silent.

_Thwack!_

"You get the idea that I was asking a rhetorical question, McGee?"

"No, Boss."

"Then, tell me _what was going through your brain_ when you endangered your own life and the lives of twenty other people by going down there!" Gibbs took a deep breath and then continued. "Was it because of Sarah?"

Tim had winced at Gibbs' voice, but when he spoke, he kept his own voice low. "Might as well be."

"What does _that _mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing, Boss. It was Sarah. That's all. I saw her down there and I acted stupidly. I know that already. I knew it before Tony decided to tell me over and over again...not that it's any different from what he usually does. I knew it before Ziva started in on me. I knew it before _you_ started threatening me." Tim was aware that, for some reason, his voice was getting louder...and that he wasn't showing any sort of calm response. "I know that what I did was stupid but you couldn't possibly understand why I did what I did. You can't and that's that. If you're going to fire me, do it...but don't try intimidating me because this time...this time you can't understand and you can't know what's going on; so just make up your mind!"

Tim became aware also that his body had decided to stand up at some point during his rant. He was now standing toe-to-toe with Gibbs and shouting in his face.

_If he wasn't going to fire me before, he certainly will now._

Gibbs didn't fire him. He didn't even yell. Instead, he walked away from Tim, around the table and sat down.

"Why do you feel the need to lie, McGee?" he asked calmly.

Tim stood there, staring at Gibbs wondering when his usually intractable boss had been replaced by a bodysnatcher.

"You lied to me just now. I want to know why."

Tim, feeling sheepish, sat down again...but he didn't say anything.

"It won't change the fact that what you did was dangerously stupid, but I'd like to know why you fell back on the assumption everyone would make rather than tell the truth."

"Because it's an easy assumption. People assume I was just being stupid. It's easier for them...and certainly more believable than the truth."

"What _is_ the truth?"

"Seeing Sarah...that wasn't a complete lie. I wasn't going to move until I saw Sarah...at least, I hadn't planned on it."

"So tell me what really happened."

"I can't do that, Boss."

"Why not? Do you think I'm blind?"

"No, Boss. You just won't believe me. I hardly believe myself."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked again.

Tim swallowed. He hadn't planned on mentioning this to anyone, not ever...especially not after speaking with the policeman...the policeman who didn't actually exist in the Athens police force...and speaking to him about a woman who apparently didn't exist...after buying gas and coffee at a gas station that hadn't been open for twenty-five years. All in all, he was sure it was one of the less believable stories Gibbs had been told.

"McGee?"

"Boss, I'm...I think I might be going crazy...or have already gone crazy...or..."

"Or what?"

"It's either that or I'm haunted...I guess."

Whatever Gibbs had been expecting him to say, it obviously wasn't that. His eyebrows went up and his eyes widened skeptically for just a moment before resuming their usual position.

"Explain."

"On...on Friday I..." Tim stopped, sure that this was a bad plan. "Boss, I'm not one of those people, you know? I don't...I don't do things like this. I don't even believe in this kind of thing. I really don't!"

"What kind of thing?" Gibbs asked, showing a bit of impatience. "You haven't said anything at this point."

"I talked to ghosts on Friday...on my way home." Tim winced at how he'd phrased it and looked down at his hands, feeling his face grow hot.

"Ghosts?" The word was spoken mildly, without accusation, but Tim knew that Gibbs thought his agent had cracked. It was enough to get him to start talking again. Fast...because this kind of thing had to be said all at once in order for it not to be dismissed before the whole story was known.

"Yeah. I stopped at this gas station near Hancock because I'd forgotten to fill up and it was so late that I figured I'd need coffee. The coffee wasn't great but it was coffee and that was all that mattered. The guy who owned the place was old and he told me to keep my eyes open. So I promised him I would and I left. I drove for a while and picked up a woman in a white dress who was hitchhiking. She was headed to Athens, too, she said and so I gave her a ride. Her name was Gwen. I gave her my jacket and I talked to her about..." He faltered briefly but then continued. What was the use in pretending? "...about Tony teasing me, about me being so stupid about that conference, wanting to brag about doing well...and then not doing anything at all in computers...and that's really the only thing I can do well here and I didn't and so I was...So I talked to her until we got to Athens and then she told me to drop her off at a place along the road. I didn't want to...but she got out and...and she disappeared. I saw a statue in the trees and it was her. It looked just like her, all in white. And then this police officer came up behind me and told me that people see her every year. ...and no one knows who she is or was or whatever. She told me my future and...and she had my jacket. ...and it happened, the sun through the fountain, the gun, decisions about right and left...and then, then, I found out that Woody's father ran that gas station but he died 25 years ago. I saw him, but he's been dead. That police officer doesn't exist. I looked him up. ...and so...so...I'm either nuts or I talked to ghosts."

Tim had been speaking to his hands but he didn't mind that. His hands were unlikely to look at him with disbelief or concern for his sanity...since they didn't have eyes.

_If they did, I think I'd have to accept that I'm nuts._

"You looked all this stuff up, I assume?"

"Of course. I mean, yes, Boss. I did look it all up, everything that I could find which wasn't much. I know things about her...but that's because she told me. Her name is Gwen."

"What exactly did she tell you?"

"That everything was going to depend on me making the right decision, that someone would point a gun at me when I saw the sun sparkling through the fountain. I'd have to save the team."

"Did you tell anyone?"

Tim laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, Boss. I told everyone because they'd be so likely to believe me. Can you imagine Tony's reaction?" He met Gibbs' gaze and saw very little belief in his eyes. "Probably, it would be like you...only more annoying and meaner."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I can't think of one single thing Tony has said to me in the past...well, the past week, if not longer, that was in any way even _tolerant_ of the fact that I am _not_ like him, never will be and have absolutely _no_ interest in being so." Tim stood up again. "Boss, you don't believe me. I can see that. I'm not sure _I_ believe me, but I can point to a bunch of things that say it really did happen, even if I don't like the implications of it being true. I've told you what happened. Now, it's up to you."

Gibbs stared at him and it was clear that he didn't believe. Tim was getting a little tired of it, of being the one who was not believed, of having everyone look at him like that...or treat him like that. Yes, what he had done was not smart and he didn't expect to be rewarded for it, but he had managed to keep a crazed suicidal SEAL from killing any of his twenty hostages. Shouldn't that give him a few points on the plus side, even if it didn't actually equal the minus side in terms of his stupidity?

"I have admitted that what I did was wrong, but once I started, Boss...didn't I do anything right? Isn't there _anything_ that I did that deserves maybe an acknowledgment? ...something other than Tony calling me an idiot, threatening my life, Ziva putting me down, questioning my abilities?"

"You think you deserve a reward for violating protocol, for putting yourself in danger?"

"No. I think I deserve an acknowledgment that I made up for that just a bit by keeping more people from dying. Would you have done better? I don't know. Probably. You probably could have kept Joshua from feeling like he had to die...and from carrying that out. I couldn't. I tried and I couldn't." Tim felt his throat tighten and he swallowed the lump. "I'm going to have to live with that. So...am I fired, suspended, slapped on the head? What, Boss?"

Gibbs stood up and walked around the table. He didn't say anything and Tim was ready to storm out. He turned toward the door. He reached out for the knob, but Gibbs grabbed his arm. Tim sucked in his breath quickly as pressure was summarily applied to his wound. Instantly, he tried to pull his arm away and his head spun unpleasantly.

"What's that, McGee?"

Tim winced. "Nothing. Nothing, Boss! Let go!"

Gibbs loosened his grip, but only enough to slide his hand down to his wrist and then push up the sleeve of Tim's jacket, revealing a bloody mess on his arm.

"What is this?"

"Bullet graze, probably," Tim said, still trying to pull away. Gibbs had a strong grip. "It's nothing."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

"When?" Tim asked. "When was I supposed to mention it? Before or after you told me that I needed to be here for this dressing down or else I was fired? Before or after Tony asked me if I could be any more stupid? When, Boss?"

"You think you're immune to the laws of physics, McGee?"

Tim found that, while a part of him was doing his usual cringing, the part in control at the moment was wanting to find how far he could push Gibbs before he actually _did_ get fired.

"Maybe I just didn't think you'd care since you all were so focused on how I screwed up. Why would you worry about a little something like _this_ when there was something more important to do...something like tell me what an idiot I am?" He looked down at his arm and it really did hurt. A lot...especially after Gibbs had grabbed it. "It's probably not serious anyway."

"Not serious?" Gibbs was incredulous. "You're still bleeding and you don't think that's serious?"

"Joshua died," Tim said, still looking down. "The fact that I got shot at all was because of what I did. He was never actually aiming at me. I was just trying to keep him from dying. Right or left. Maybe I should have done one of those instead."

"What?"

"Gwen told me that my decision to move right or left would be the difference between success and failure." Tim felt his head start to spin and before he knew it he was sitting on a chair, his head between his legs.

"Stay there, McGee."

"I don't want to end up like Joshua."

"Why would you?"

"He saw her, too. He must have...because he saw the gas station."

"Just stay down, McGee."

Tim did so, but he heard Gibbs call on his phone and wondered, briefly, why Gibbs was suddenly concerned. It wasn't like he'd been shot when he'd seen Gwen.

_Maybe I was...maybe this is all a dream and I'll wake up and it was nothing but my imagination run wild._

Unfortunately, he didn't seem in danger of doing anything but letting his head explode from all the blood rushing into it.

"Timothy, whatever have you been doing to yourself? You said you were fine at the memorial."

"It's nothing, Ducky."

"He got a graze and didn't tell anyone," Gibbs said flatly.

"Well, let me see."

"Can I sit up now?"

"Yes."

Tim sat up gratefully. Ducky began tutting over Tim's wound. It wasn't serious, but it was long and deep.

"It will need stitches, I'm afraid."

"Great. That's going to make my life _so _much better," Tim muttered. "I get humiliated by Tony, talk to ghosts over the weekend, make a stupid decision, get reamed for it...by everyone...and now I get to have stitches on top of that. That's just _great_!" He stood up...too quickly and saw some black spots in his vision. Gibbs shoved him back down.

"Ghosts?" Ducky repeated blankly.

"Long story," Gibbs said.

"It isn't too bad, Timothy. Stitches are more of a precaution and they won't take long."

"Right." Tim felt embarrassed and he wished that Gibbs had actually answered him before grabbing his arm.

"I'll take you over," Gibbs said. "And then you're going home. Don't come back until next week."

"Next week?"

"Let's go." He grabbed Tim's other arm and pulled him up.

"I wish you believed me, Boss," Tim said quietly as they left.

Gibbs didn't reply but he gave a look at Ducky who nodded in resignation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"All right, Mr. McGee, that's it. Keep it dry. If you notice any signs of infection, just come back in and we'll check it out." The doctor checked off some items on Tim's chart. "Take it easy for a couple of days. You're the hero of the hour, I hear; so you can rest on your laurels."

Tim looked over at Gibbs but said nothing.

"Any questions?"

"No. I've got it."

"All right. You're free to go."

"Thank you."

Tim stood up and walked out, followed closely by Gibbs.

"I'll give you a ride home, McGee."

"I can take a taxi, Boss," Tim said, feeling that it would be better just to get away from Gibbs and the fact that he didn't believe what Tim had claimed.

"No, you can't because I'm giving you a ride."

Tim got that he was supposed to obey. "Okay."

He rode silently to his apartment. Gibbs said nothing.

Tim opened the door and then paused.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"I know that what I told you sounds crazy...but I'd appreciate it if you would, for once, give me the benefit of the doubt. I'm not stupid."

Gibbs said nothing.

Tim sighed and got out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride."

"See you next week, McGee."

"Yeah, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Talk to me, Ducky."

Ducky looked up from his autopsy.

"About what, pray tell, Jethro?"

"About McGee suddenly talking about seeing ghosts and having them predict his future."

Jimmy made an awkward noise, obviously wondering if he should still be there.

"Yes, well...Mr. Palmer, would you run this up to Abby, please."

"Yes, Doctor." Jimmy seized the opportunity to get out and nearly ran for it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stepped into his apartment and felt almost a measure of relief at getting away from Gibbs, getting away from all of them. He began to shake, a reaction, he knew, to the stress of the day, but he took a deep breath and tried to calm down again.

Jethro bounced eagerly around him, surprised at his master's early return. Tim sank down on his chair and took another breath.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I will confess to quite a bit of surprise regarding Timothy's recent experience...but it seems worse that he is being harangued at every turn by his coworkers and friends for the work he has done."

"He completely disregarded what he was told, Ducky...because he said that ghosts told him the future over the weekend."

"And you think he has lost his mind, is that correct?"

"You think he hasn't?" Gibbs retorted.

"Why is it impossible that what he related actually occurred?"

"What?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After a few minutes, Tim felt controlled enough to think about something else. He pushed the vision of Joshua lying on the ground, dead, from his mind. Instead, he focused on what he knew about his experience.

"Gibbs doesn't believe me, Jethro, but it has to be true. I can't see any other way to explain it." Tim turned to his computer. "There has to be something, someone...some _sign_ of what I saw. There _has_ to be."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky smiled. "Do you have any evidence, any real _reason_ to believe that Timothy has simply gone off his rocker?"

"He said he talked to a _ghost_, Ducky. He said that that ghost predicted his future."

"Yes...and?"

"Ducky, you're a scientist."

"On the contrary, Jethro, I am a doctor. Doctors, unlike hard-headed scientists, admit that there are times, events which have no rational explanation. Why does one person survive and another die? Why does the same treatment not work for the same ailment in two different people? What causes the miraculous recoveries or devastating losses? There are many things we cannot explain."

"But ghosts?"

"Jethro, do you have any idea how many people in this world have, not only a belief in the immortality of the human spirit, but also a belief that those spirits can exist in this world?"

"No...but I'm sure you're about to tell me," Gibbs said flatly.

"Ghosts have been a part of popular belief since antiquity. During the events of the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_, characters interacted with ghosts. In the _Aeneid_, Aeneas, the hero, speaks with a shade of Hades and gets his future predicted. Ghosts have appeared in the literature of every civilization on the earth within every era and every religion. Nearly a third of the population of this country believes in the existence of ghosts."

"Yeah, well, I could probably find people who believe in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, probably more. Doesn't mean they exist."

"Jethro, Timothy appears to believe this happened to him, is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"Would you expect him to be the kind of person to have an irrational belief in the supernatural?"

"Does that matter?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim began scanning through information, going back 25 years. Archives of newspapers from Maryland, information about Woody's father and his murder.

"There has to be something, Jethro. If I'm not crazy, then it stands to reason that I could find information."

He skimmed through the Baltimore Sun site...but the online archives didn't go back that far.

"Dang it. Okay, then, I can go somewhere else."

On a lark, he got on the Library of Congress website and found that there were archived collections of the Baltimore Sun there...and they covered the right year.

"Okay, Jethro, I promise I'll be back to walk you." Tim got up, filled his dish and then left his apartment.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Yes, I believe it does, Jethro. Timothy has told you the reasons for his actions."

"Which could have got him killed!"

"Actions which saved a number of innocent people," Ducky said firmly. "Did he really see a ghost? I would not venture to guess. Timothy is generally a rational human being with an eye for detail... and for reality. Regardless, it doesn't matter whether or not he really saw and was advised by a ghost."

"Doesn't it?"

"No. What matters is that Timothy _thinks_ he did and acted accordingly. You may decide whether that belief led to a better or worse outcome than might have otherwise occurred. What matters to me is that at a moment when people should have been showing concern and perhaps even a measure of admiration for his success, they were doing nothing of the sort. Instead, he was belittled and degraded at every turn by you, by Tony and even by Ziva. On top of that, he was injured, dealt with what must have been a frightening experience with no support...and now cannot even depend on being trusted by his boss, a man he greatly admires. What would you expect of a man in that situation, Jethro?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked to the Metro. It tired him out a bit, but he didn't care. He was going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what it took. He had to know who was right. Was he crazy like Gibbs was obviously assuming or had he really seen a ghost?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"The man is undoubtably experiencing some sort of shock. He was nearly killed. He did something he knew was foolish and had to deal with being the one whose actions could mean the difference between life and death not only for himself but for a number of others. Jethro, this is not the kind of man who wants to deal with people questioning his sanity."

"What do you want me to do, Ducky? Lie to him and tell McGee that I believe him? I don't."

Ducky sighed. "I'm suggesting that you give your agent the benefit of the doubt. Turnabout is fair play, I believe...and he has never doubted you."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat down at a microfilm reader, four reels of the Baltimore Sun in his hands. He set them down, loaded one with a practiced ease that would have surprised those who didn't know him as a lover of technology from many eras. He had fond memories of using microfiche back in his college days.

He didn't know when Woody's father had been killed. It wasn't something that he could ask him for. That would seem weird...and a bit callous. Instead, he was scanning through the years of the Baltimore Sun two years before and after 1985, figuring that would cover any inaccuracies in Woody's account.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs stalked into the bullpen.

"Where's McGee, Boss? Did you fire him for being an idiot?" Tony asked. "...because I can totally understand that."

"I've never fired _you_ have I, DiNozzo?" Gibbs muttered.

"Well, no..."

"Then, you don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to telling me to fire McGee for being an idiot."

"What's up, Boss?"

"McGee saved twenty people, including his own sister. He also probably saved us. Maybe you should say thanks instead of calling him an idiot." Gibbs opened a drawer and then shoved it closed. "Maybe we _all_ should."

"You think he did the right thing, Gibbs?" Ziva asked, furrowing her brow.

"No...not to start, but he did it right afterward. He got the guy to let the hostages go, all of them. Could _you_ have done that without firing a shot, Ziva?" He shook his head. "Finish up your reports. McGee won't be back until next week."

"Why not?"

"Because he got grazed by a bullet, disobeyed orders, lost some blood and needs to recover."

"He is all right?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah. He's fine. Just worn out. Finish your reports." He walked to the elevators and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Gas station owner gunned down in Hancock._

Tim's tired eyes tracked in on the headline. It wasn't a large article. No big surprise there. Hancock was a small town. The gas station, independently-owned and operated. Henry Rollins had not been famous.

He had simply died.

Tim began to read the article, noting with interest that it was 26 years to the day that he had seen him, had filled up there...at a gas station that no longer existed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs knocked on Tim's apartment door and was greeted by the barking of his namesake...but not by Tim opening the door. It wasn't anxious barking he could hear, simply impatient.

However, Gibbs couldn't help feeling just a bit anxious himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The phrases passed through his brain as he looked carefully at the article, noting down the details.

_...one witness saw two men run out of the station..._

_...two men, fleeing in a car..._

_...possible accomplice..._

_...gunshot to the head..._

_...thirty dollars in the till..._

Tim shook his head in disgust. Thirty dollars. Murder committed, a life ended...for thirty measly dollars. It wasn't fair. He sent the page to the printer and was about to go to the next few days to see if there had been any further information...but his attention was shifted to...

_Body of an unidentified woman found off I-70_

It was from the same day...in the same basic area.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs sat on the front steps of Tim's building, outwardly calm, inwardly hoping that his decision to wait out here was the right one.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Officials have no clues as to the identity of the young woman, estimated to be in her late twenties. She does not match the description of any missing persons and carried no ID. Her clothes, a long white dress, bears no brand names, nor any labels..._

"Gwen," Tim whispered. He yawned and stretched and looked at his watch. "Oh, no. I've been here way too long." He quickly sent the other page to the printer and then scanned through the next few days. There was another brief insert about no suspects being found in the case...and one other mention of Gwen being still unidentified.

"She must have been buried...somewhere. I wonder if Ducky would know where to look."

He looked at his watch again.

"I've got to go."

He stood, a little too fast, and swayed a bit before heading to the printer desk, paying for his copies and leaving the library. He headed straight home, knowing that Jethro would be getting antsy. It was that time of the day.

The Metro was a bit crowded but he was thankfully able to find a seat after transferring to the Red Line. He nearly fell asleep, but heard his station announced and got off. Then, feeling more and more tired, and regretting that he hadn't taken Jethro out already, he headed back to his apartment. He saw someone sitting on his front stoop. He thought he recognized the general build but he didn't see why Gibbs would be there. He kept walking toward him, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

"Hey...Boss. What are you doing here?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"What are you doing, McGee?"

"I'm..." Tim hesitated and then shoved the pages into his jacket pocket. "I'm going to walk my dog...why?"

"You able enough for that?"

"I'm not a weakling, Boss," Tim said, feeling irritated. He brushed by Gibbs on the stairs and walked up to his apartment, vaguely surprised that Gibbs hadn't followed him. Perhaps he was just making sure that Tim hadn't hurt himself. Crazy people were supposed to do that, right? His bitter thoughts ended when he unlocked the door and was nearly taken out by his excited dog.

"Jethro, calm down! Calm down! You ready to go out?"

That was a bad question. Immediately, Jethro began jumping all over, leash in his mouth, eager to leave.

"Okay. Okay. Let's get going." He clipped on the leash and headed out...stopping abruptly (and nearly getting his arm pulled out of its socket in the process) when he saw Gibbs still sitting patiently on the steps.

"Boss, what do you want?"

"Looks like Jethro needs some attention. You should probably walk him."

Tim rolled his eyes. "You know what, Boss? I'm not going to start baying at the moon. You don't need to watch me."

"I didn't think I did."

"Right," Tim muttered, but Jethro _was_ pulling at his arm in a way that made him feel ready to chop it off and let the dog run; so he allowed himself to be pulled down the street. However, he _was_ tired. As much as he could, he forced Jethro to hurry it up.

"Let's go back, Jethro. I need to go to bed. Please?"

Jethro looked at him for a moment and then barked in capitulation and trotted back home, giving Tim the chance to set the pace.

The only problem was that Gibbs was still there when he got back.

"Boss...what do you_ want_? Why are you here? You told me off and told me not to come back. So...what are you doing here?"

"You're not _fired_, McGee."

"Yeah, I know."

"Have a seat." He patted the steps beside him.

Tim remained standing. "Boss, are you making it an order?"

"Do I have to?"

His voice was mild, but Tim visibly hesitated before swallowing and standing his ground.

"Depends. Are you going to act like I'm nuts or stupid? If so, I really don't need that right now. I'm tired."

"Were you tired when you drove to Ohio?"

It was all Tim could do not to erupt in righteous anger. This was so frustrating. Instead, angry that he was _still_ being doubted, Tim began to lay out everything he knew, not caring if Gibbs actually listened. He needed to say it all out loud.

"Do you mean, was I hallucinating filling up my car with gasoline at _this_ gas station?" He pulled out one of the pages he'd copied and threw it on the ground. "Or did I imagine seeing _this _woman on the side of the road and give her a ride to Athens where she disappeared?" He threw another page. "I don't know, Boss! Maybe I did! ...but that doesn't explain where I got the coffee or where the gas came from or where the $35 I spent went or how my jacket appeared on my car seat when I came out this morning...or how I knew what was going to happen at the memorial today! I didn't have enough gas to get to Ohio. I would have _had_ to have stopped somewhere! I figured out how much gas I needed to get to Athens, how much to get back and calculated the amount. I _did_ stop. I _did_ fill up. The coffee cup is...is in my car, on the floor where I tossed it. I found the place where I picked Gwen up on my way back. It's the same mile marker where they found her body. I don't believe in this kind of thing...but when the evidence piles up, I have to accept it. It happened. I talked to Gwen. I talked to someone who died 26 years ago. I somehow bought gas and coffee at a nonexistent gas station, one whose owner was killed 26 years ago. And..." Tim stopped and ran through what he had just said to Gibbs in his head.

"And what, McGee?"

"And I don't need to explain myself to you anymore. I've told you what happened. I've told you why. If you don't believe me...you're going to have to decide what you want to do. I'm tired, Boss. I'm going. You can stay out here if you want, but I'm not staying." He climbed the steps and walked up to his apartment, relieved when he noticed that Gibbs wasn't following him...or trying to order him back. He didn't think he'd be able to resist a direct order...or even a polite request, not that Gibbs was likely to make a polite request of _anybody_, least of all an agent he thought was unhinged.

When he got to his apartment, however, Tim didn't go to bed as he had planned...as he _wanted_ to. Instead, he sat down at his computer and dialed a number.

"Hey, Ducky. Could you help me with something?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs waited until Tim had gone back inside before picking up the abandoned pages. Tim had done his usual thorough job on researching this stuff that he had supposedly seen. These stories seemed to fit with what Tim thought he had seen, but how could it be possible? The problem was that Tim was right. He was about the last person Gibbs would have expected to believe in something supernatural...or to do something so crazy as follow the prediction of a ghost. ...and yet, Tim _had_ done just that.

Gibbs stood up and looked back toward Tim's apartment. He just couldn't fathom the kind of experience Tim claimed to have had. Was he crazy? Who knew? Gibbs, personally, thought it much more likely that Tim had simply been too tired to think clearly.

_But where did he get these ideas if he hadn't read about them before?_ he asked himself. He didn't even try to kid himself that Tim would be intentionally lying about what he believed had happened. _If McGee was lying, he would have come up with a better story than ghostly gas stations._

And yet, he couldn't believe what Tim had told him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The doors to Autopsy opened. Ducky sighed.

"Timothy, I would have thought you'd rather be resting," he said, turning around.

Tim was standing there. He did look tired...and still a bit shell-shocked, truth be told.

"No, Ducky. I need to..."

"...finish the story?" Ducky asked mildly.

"It's not a story!" Tim said, angrily. "I didn't make it up! I wish everyone would stop–"

"Timothy, I wasn't saying you _were_. You seem out of sorts after today. I was merely suggesting that you take the time to recover."

"I'm not hurt. It was barely a graze. I just need to know."

"Very well. If you would give me whatever data you have on this elusive young woman you're searching for, I will do my best....although you could probably do as well as I."

Tim shook his head. "No. You know more about this stuff than I do, and besides, Gibbs will..." He stopped.

"...believe me where he is not believing you?"

Tim sank down onto a chair. "I've never asked him to believe me in anything before, Ducky. It's never mattered what I thought because there was always someone else who could back me up. ...but this time...this time, it's just me." Tim looked up and depression was fighting for position with anger on Tim's face. "And this time, because it's just me, my word isn't good enough. He doesn't trust me. I've trusted him in everything since I came onto his team. Every time...but he doesn't trust me."

"You have to admit, Timothy, that this thing you want him to believe is harder than most."

Tim sprang to his feet. "But _I'm_ asking him! I'm trying to get evidence for it! I've done the work! ...and I'm the one who saw...who saw..."

"A ghost."

"Do you believe me, Ducky?"

"To be frank, I'm not sure, Timothy. I've never known you to be irrational...not extremely so at any rate."

Tim had the grace to flush a little.

"...and yet, your tale is a bit..."

"Unbelievable," Tim said glumly. "Don't you think I know that? I spent hours looking for newspaper articles today. Now, I just want to see if I can find where she was buried."

"Timothy, what good will that do you? If she is, as you say, this unidentified woman, then, finding her grave will only tell you where she was buried. It more than likely will _not_ be the convincing of Jethro."

Tim slumped down in the chair.

"You're right. It won't. Nothing will...but I need to see it for myself. Even if Gibbs doesn't trust me...I have to be able to trust myself, Ducky." He looked up earnestly. "Don't you see? I could have got people killed today. I...I started on the path I did because...because of Sarah, but I...I...it was the sunlight in the fountain that... I listened to a ghost. I talked to a ghost." He laughed at himself. "Even as I say it, I can hardly believe it. I need to know...or I can't move on from it. I'll spend the rest of my life wondering...maybe I'll end up like...Joshua did. Crazy."

Ducky gave Tim a surprised look. "Why would you think that was a possibility, lad?"

"Because he saw the gas station, too. Maybe he saw her as well. Maybe he saw Gwen...I don't want to be crazy, Ducky."

"How do you know he saw it?"

"Because his friend, Woody...it was his father who ran the gas station...before he was murdered. They became friends because Joshua insisted that he'd been there...long after it wasn't there." Tim swallowed. "What if it's because of that...what if it was because of what he saw that he...he became...that he was..."

"Timothy, based on what I know, that unfortunate man suffered greatly during his military service, not as a result of interacting with a gas station."

"But how can you know? Maybe..."

Ducky grabbed Tim by the shoulders to stop his rambling. "Timothy, you are not going crazy."

"Maybe I already have."

"Why would you say that?"

"That's what Gibbs thinks, isn't it? Isn't it? Doesn't Gibbs just assume that I've lost it?" Angry again, Tim pulled away. "I told him the truth and he thinks I'm lying...either that or he thinks I'm crazy. I don't know which is worse."

"He might think that you were mistaken."

"That really _is_ worse, Ducky. That means that Gibbs doesn't trust my judgment either."

"Timothy, you are making too much of this."

"No, I'm not! Last week, it was Tony making wisecracks about one failure. This week, it's about being an idiot. This week, not only is Tony after me for it, but so is Ziva and so is Gibbs. If I had known what was going to happen..." He trailed off.

Ducky waited and when he didn't finish the sentence, Ducky did it for him. "You would have done _exactly_ the same thing, wouldn't you."

"I wanted to stop him from dying, Ducky. Joshua didn't deserve to die. He got left behind, lost in the shuffle, like too many do. He didn't deserve that...but he didn't want me to save him. I just wish I could have."

"He was lost long before you met him."

"But I'll never know. What if I _hadn't_ gone down there? What if it was _Gibbs_ talking to him? Gibbs is a Marine. He knows what it feels like. I don't know that. I tried to do the right thing...but what if it was wrong?" Tim spread his hands in self-deprecation. "I was listening to a ghost...and he died."

"Timothy, you should..." Ducky sighed and changed his tack. "Let me see what I can find. You may wait here if you wish."

Tim didn't answer. He walked over to an autopsy table and sat on it. Ducky smiled and went to his computer.

"I would assume that if you didn't find any sign of her being identified, she would have been buried in a potter's field or at the least in a section of a larger cemetery set aside for unidentified burials. I know of a few in this area."

"In Maryland," Tim said.

"Of course." Ducky began to look, using the data Tim had given him. It took some time and about halfway through his search, he heard the sound of deep breathing behind him. He looked back over his shoulder. Tim was lying on the table on his side...asleep. "Finally. Timothy, you worry me." Then, he shook his head tolerantly and went back to his search.

He was unsuccessful with online searches and so he sent out requests to some of his colleagues in Maryland. Not all records were to be accessed through online databases even now. Then, he sat back and considered.

"Now...why would this young woman _not_ be found to be missing? How is it that no one ever missed her?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"_Did I do the right thing? Did I make the right choice?"_

_The white eyes, glowing luminescently, stared and no sound was heard._

"_Please, please, tell me! I need to know!"_

_She turned away and for the first time, he saw a bright red stain on the white dress. It hadn't been there before, he was sure of it._

"_Who are you, Gwen? I need your help. No one believes me!"_

"Timothy, wake up, please."

"_Gwen!"_

_She began to fade from view._

"_Gwen!"_

"Timothy, wake up!"

Tim opened his eyes. He was laying on an autopsy table.

"I must have been tired to fall asleep on this thing."

"Perhaps you were. Timothy, have you talked to anyone about what happened yesterday?"

"Yesterday?"

"It's past two in the morning, lad. It is another day."

"You found her?"

"If this is the correct person, yes. She's in a cemetery outside Baltimore where her body was taken for autopsy. No identification. Have you spoken to anyone about what happened yesterday?"

"I talked to Gibbs and then he sent me home."

"No one else?"

"No. Thanks for your help, Ducky." Tim sat up and held out his hand for the paper.

Ducky held onto it. "Wait, Timothy."

"What? I need to go, now, Ducky."

"Now? At two in the morning? The cemetery will be closed. What you need to do is get some rest."

Tim shook his head. "No. I have to figure this out. If I go now, I can get to Baltimore and then go back to Athens."

"Back to Athens?"

"Yes. I have to find the police officer. He wasn't a real police officer...but I don't think he was a ghost."

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you why. I just...I didn't get the same feeling from him. He was really there...but he wasn't a cop. He was pretending to be a cop. I need to find him...and talk to him...and ask him why he was out there that night. I need to see her grave...and that statue I need to..."

"To what, Timothy?"

"I need to find some way to prove that I saw what I saw...and I need to do it before next week when I go back to work."

"Why?"

"Because I can't work with people who don't trust me. Gibbs doesn't trust me. None of them do. I can't deal with Tony's putdowns and Ziva's teasing if I don't think that I have anyone's trust."

"They trust you, Timothy."

"No, they don't!" Tim said and swung his legs off the table. "They don't trust me! They don't believe me! They think that I screwed up!" He paused. "I _did _screw up, but they think I can't do anything _right_!"

"That's not true, Timothy."

"Could have fooled me." Tim stood up...and then his eyes widened and he smacked his forehead. "Oh, no! I was supposed to call Sarah! She's going to be so mad at me. Great...one more place I've screwed up."

"Timothy..." Ducky put out his hand.

"Just tell me where they buried Gwen."

Ducky looked Tim in the eye and didn't like what he saw. "Very well, Timothy. Call me and let me know what you see."

"Right." Tim shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and walked out of Autopsy. Ducky watched him go and felt a kind of frustrated anger for the sloppy way the last day had been handled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim pulled out his phone and saw about ten missed calls...all from Sarah. The last one had been sent only half an hour ago. He took a chance and called her back.

"Sarah?"

"_Timmy? Are you okay? You said you were going to call! I was so... What have you been doing? How could you forget?"_

"I'm really sorry, Sarah. I got...bogged down at work and..."

"_At work? Tim, it's two-thirty a.m.!"_

"I fell asleep."

"_Tim."_

"I'm really sorry, Sarah. Are you okay?"

"_I'm fine...I guess."_

"I'm sorry. I just... I'm sorry, Sarah."

"_You're not telling me something, Tim. I can tell because you're stumbling over your words and that means that you don't want to lie to me...since you're not good at it anyway."_

"I have some things I have to do. They just came up, but you're right, I don't want to lie to you, Sarah. I'd just embarrass myself. Are you going to be okay?"

"_Well, I'd rather be able to fret and worry with you all week, but I'll be fine. My roommate has decided I'm not leaving her sight for a few days."_ Sarah put on a nonchalant air, but Tim could hear that she was relieved by the attention.

"I'll let you know as soon as I have some free time. Okay?"

"_Okay, Mr. Important Special Agent. ...I love you, Tim. I'm glad you were there."_

"I love you, too, Sarah. Good night."

Tim hung up and thought about what Ducky had said. He was right. It wouldn't help his case just to go and see her grave.

_I'll retrace my steps, go to the gas station and then see if I can find the police officer in Grosvenor. It'll be a long night, but the important thing is to figure this out. I can make up for what I did._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky pounded on the door. Normally, he would consider this behavior unwarranted, but this time, he decided that something needed to be done. Gibbs might lose some sleep, but Tim stood to lose a lot more than that. Then, he remembered that Gibbs didn't lock his doors anyway. He turned the knob.

"Jethro!"

Gibbs, tussle-headed and yawning, was just coming out of his bedroom. "What are you doing here, Ducky?"

"We need to talk, Jethro."

"Now?"

"Now!"

"About what?"

"About Timothy."

Gibbs sighed. "Duck, this is hardly the time."

"No, it's the _only_ time. Do you know what your agent is doing?"

"What?"

"He's trying to find a way to regain your trust."

"He hasn't lost it."

"You don't believe him, Jethro...and you've made it plenty clear to him that you don't."

"No, I don't, but that doesn't mean I don't trust him. Ducky, it's three in the morning."

"Yes, and I was at NCIS with Timothy until an hour ago, looking for the grave of that poor girl who died all those years ago."

"Why?"

"Because, as I've been trying to tell you, Jethro, Timothy is in a state of doubt. He doubts himself and he feels that everyone else doubts him."

"No one else knows about what he thinks happened. I didn't tell Tony or Ziva."

"The problem is not only with that. It is also how they treated him after the hostage situation was resolved. Timothy is more than likely traumatized by what happened. It was extremely stressful and he greatly regrets the death of the man who was killed. He wonders, now, if you would have been able to keep him alive. If this does not get addressed soon, he will probably begin to doubt his very place on your team."

Gibbs was wide awake now.

"He should have been debriefed on his experience immediately, but he told me that all he did was talk to you...and forgive me, Jethro, but I'm assuming that your talk was questioning his actions, not making certain he was all right."

Gibbs said nothing, but he was listening intently, analyzing, going over the information received. Ducky could see the gears turning and knew that he was finally getting through to him.

"I don't know the best course of action, Jethro. I tried to convince Timothy to go home and get some rest, but I would wager that he has gone off to try and solve his mystery...and he will do so at any cost...because he feels it is the only way to redeem himself."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim drove north, stopping at his apartment only long enough to check on Jethro and then to grab a few things. As he drove, he felt the kind of twisting in his gut that usually accompanied his performance anxiety. What would he do if he wasn't able to see it again? What if...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sleep was forgotten as Gibbs sat alone in his house. Ducky had left him there with many things to mull over. He wondered how he had managed to get so sidetracked. Yes, Tim's actions had been foolhardy, dangerous...but their very nature should have been cause for discussion, not the type of censure Gibbs was so good at meting out. He had at his fingertips the exact same information as Tim now had...but there was an important thing he did _not_ have.

Tim's mindset and Tim's experience. Gibbs knew how he himself would have reacted to seeing a "ghost". With skepticism.

He would have expected the same of Tim, but it hadn't happened that way...and so he sat back and tried to figure out what Tim was going to do next. He put aside going to the cemetery. Tim would do that only _after_ he had figured everything out. That would be the kind of symbolic last stop an author would crave. Tim could be fairly melodramatic on occasion and he would _need_ that kind of action to close this chapter...but only close it.

So...what would he do first? He looked at the copied articles Tim had left. Then, he nodded to himself, grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was an empty lot. Dark and empty. Tim parked his car and got out, staring at the place where there had been a gas station just a few days before. An empty lot. Not even an old abandoned store. It was just a small expanse of asphalt. Slowly, he walked forward, _knowing_ that there had been something, _someone_ there before. He closed his eyes and imagined the place in his mind, as _he_ had seen it.

He opened his eyes. There was nothing there.

He closed his eyes again, this time just to hide from the facts staring him in the face.

Nothing. Nothing to show that he was right. Nothing to _prove_ that he had come here.

Despair threatened to crash over him in smothering waves.

"Why did this happen to me?" he shouted.

He took a deep breath and let out quickly. Resolutely, he turned his back on the empty lot and returned to his car.

In moments, the lot was completely empty...although it didn't stay that way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Keep your eyes open," Tim whispered. That was what more than one person had told him that night. Now, he said it as if it were a mantra. As he drove along the freeway, he kept watching for a figure in white...kept _hoping_ that he'd see her again. Gwen was the main link to his life before and his life after what had happened at the memorial. Without her...he was just another guy suffering a nervous breakdown.

So, he drove...

...but he never saw a single flash of white. Not one.

And so he kept driving...and he didn't feel tired.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs slowed as he reached Hancock, searching for the gas station listed in the article. Finally, he arrived at...an empty lot. This was the place Tim swore he'd filled up. Gibbs parked and got out. It was now nearing five in the morning and he was definitely feeling it. He walked around and saw footprints in the dirt...but the area itself was generally strangely clean, as if it had been scoured. He felt weird, though. It was as if he was being watched.

After a few minutes standing in the middle of the lot, Gibbs shook himself. He wasn't going to find Tim waiting here. This place was empty and had been for a long time.

He left it empty again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The sun was up by the time Tim got to Athens and he knew, somehow, that there was no point in trying to find Gwen in daylight. ...but he couldn't bear the thought of going home and telling his parents why he was there. How could he explain to them that no one trusted him anymore, that he'd screwed up...that he'd seen a ghost? Instead, he decided to drive to a hotel south of Athens and checked in.

Now, he felt tired. He felt more than tired. Tim was drained and all he wanted was to sleep. He needed to find the man who had spoken to him that night...but not now. He turned off his phone, put a 'Do Not Disturb' notice on his door and dropped onto the bed without any further thought.

So very tired. He curled into a fetal position and his eyes closed to the real world, seeking refuge in dreams.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs stopped his car and got out again. This was the mile marker the article indicated the unidentified woman had been found.

He didn't expect to find anything here. It wasn't the site of a recent crime...but he could see that this was the exact place _someone_ had stopped not too long ago.

_McGee stopped here. Why would he have if he hadn't seen anything at all? He saw something...but a ghost?_

The problem was that the longer he retraced Tim's steps, the more he had to admit that Tim had seen _something_. Something had happened, but he couldn't go that route, not the one Tim had gone. He couldn't see it happening.

_But what is the other option? What else could explain what Tim had described?_

That was the real problem. He could see Ducky's point. How else could Tim interpret the way he had been treated other than that there was a lack of trust? No one else could come up with a valid explanation for what he'd done...and yet, when Tim had trusted Gibbs enough to tell him what he thought had happened...it had been rejected. Gibbs finally understood at least to some degree what Tim's state of mind was. He didn't think anyone trusted him anymore and he needed to earn their trust again, not realizing that Tony's and Ziva's actions and words had been an expression of their worry not an expression of their trust in him (not that it really excused what they had all said and done...). Tim felt the responsibility of holding so many lives in his hands very keenly...and when one of those lives had been lost...

Gibbs cursed himself for being an unfeeling idiot...and he knew what needed to be done. He'd have to track Tim down.

...and he'd have to apologize, that is, if apologies were enough at this point...and he highly doubted they would be. He didn't even think they _should_ be.

Inwardly hoping he was reading Tim correctly now, he got back in his car and began to drive toward Athens.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva looked around the bullpen. It seemed half empty.

"Where is Gibbs?"

Tony glanced over at Gibbs' desk and noticed, as Ziva had, the lack of presence Gibbs' desk had when he was in the building.

"Well, McGee is supposedly still recuperating, but I don't know where the Boss is."

"This is not right. Gibbs is always here before us."

"He's taking the day off, Officer David," Vance said as he came down the stairs. "Called me this morning and said he had something that just came up and he wouldn't make it in."

"That doesn't sound like Gibbs."

"Not at all."

Vance shrugged. "You two have reports you haven't filed and paperwork to do. I suggest you take this time to get caught up." He walked back up the stairs without another word, leaving Tony and Ziva staring after him in confusion.

"You think maybe he's checking on McGee?"

"If so, he would have told Vance and he does not seem to know."

"Maybe Abby knows what's going on? Or Ducky?"

Ziva considered. "It is worth checking to see."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs checked into a hotel near Athens and gratefully sank onto the bed. Tim wasn't answering his phone. It was going straight to voice mail. Hopefully, that meant he was sleeping, too.

"I'm getting too old for this," he grumbled to himself and only just remembered to set his alarm before falling asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky sighed as Jimmy failed to acknowledge his instruction for the third time. "Mr. Palmer, you seem rather inattentive this morning. Something wrong?"

Jimmy shook his head, hesitated and then blurted out, "You believe McGee, don't you?"

"About what?"

"I heard what Gibbs said...I couldn't really help hearing...and you believe that he talked to ghosts, don't you?"

"I'm not quite certain _what_ I believe, to be honest, Mr. Palmer. I've heard of numerous experiences with ghosts...but I'm not certain that I've ever heard of a ghost predicting the future before."

"It happens all the time, Dr. Mallard...we just don't think of it as ghosts predicting the future."

Now interested, Ducky gave his full attention to Jimmy. "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Palmer?"

"Well...I...uh..."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?"

Flushing just a little, Jimmy looked down at his feet. "Yes, Doctor."

"Tell me. I'd be very interested in knowing."

"It really happened," Jimmy declared firmly. "I haven't ever really...told anyone about it because...well...because of the kind of thing that's happened to McGee. It's...it's special to me."

"You may be assured of my discretion...and my respect."

"I know," Jimmy said and smiled unexpectedly.

"So, what happened?"

"My dad died when I was pretty young. A car accident. It's just been my mom and me since then."

Ducky nodded encouragingly.

"Well, I used to...drive by the cemetery where he was buried. It made me feel closer to him, to remember him. I would go nearly every day. On the anniversary, I'd go to his grave and tell him how I was doing and I'd always feel him there. When I was little, I used to have dreams about him and we'd talk in my bedroom. But...one day, when I was on my way to the cemetery to do my morning drive by...I heard his voice at the last intersection. It wasn't a thought in my head or anything like that. It was my dad's voice. He said, 'Not today, James. You need to turn right instead.' I listened to him and I went the other way. It was actually faster but I didn't like the idea of not going by the cemetery. Still, I did what my dad told me to do and..." Jimmy hesitated and shrugged.

"And?" Ducky asked, thoroughly engrossed. People didn't often tell _him_ stories.

"And on the radio, just a few minutes later, I heard that there was a huge accident on the road I usually took to go to work. It was a _bad_ accident, Dr. Mallard. A few people died. I would have either been involved or else right in the thick of it if I hadn't listened to my dad. He knew what was going to happen and he protected me from that happening to me. It was a ghost predicting the future."

Ducky smiled and nodded.

"If McGee had something more dramatic than his dad's voice, that's no reason to assume it didn't happen. ...I mean...his dad's still alive and..."

"I understand, lad."

Just as unexpectedly as he'd smiled before, Jimmy shook his head. "You don't really, Dr. Mallard. You can't unless you've experienced it yourself. Maybe that's why Gibbs can't believe...because he's never felt that, that feeling of someone else being there. It's indescribable, but it's also unmistakable."

"And yet, Timothy himself seems unsure."

"So would I if Gibbs were talking at me like he was probably talking at McGee." He flushed. "It's easier to doubt what you know is true if you're being treated as if you're lying. ...or something like that."

"True enough, Mr. Palmer," Ducky said with a heavy sigh. It was far too true. "I only wish that McGee knew of your experience himself. It is easier to share a burden with sympathetic company."

"I don't think McGee would have wanted to trust me enough to share it. Especially not now."

"Oh, I think not, lad. I think that given the opportunity, Timothy would embrace any chance to find someone who truly believed him. It would be a relief."

The doors opened to reveal Tony and Ziva. Ducky raised his eyebrows significantly and Jimmy laughed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim opened his eyes both reluctantly and eagerly. His sleep had not even blunted the edge of his exhaustion. His dreams had not been peaceful but filled with strange scenes, colors faded, images blurred. He tried to hold to them even as they faded still further from his conscious mind.

Gwen was taking an ever-stronger hold on his mind, consuming his every thought and he was beginning to fear more than ever that Gibbs was right, that he was simply crazy and had hallucinated his whole experience. ...even though it wasn't possible.

With a sigh, he sat up and pulled out his phone. He had five missed calls. One from Sarah, one from his parents, one from Ducky and two from Gibbs.

"Probably making sure I haven't totally cracked," Tim muttered. "...or else calling me to tell me that I'm fired."

He didn't want to face either of those possibilities, but he did want to find out more. He looked out the window and saw that the sun was going down. He'd slept all day. All to the better. He could stay up the whole night if he needed to...and he could go where he needed to go.

Back to the statue. Back to Gwen.

* * *

A/N: Special thanks to ceilidh for her help with this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

He waited until full dark before leaving the hotel. This next step needed darkness. Tim was fairly certain that he'd never see Gwen in daylight...and actually, he probably wouldn't see the mysterious police officer either unless he waited until the cover of night.

Tim still felt very tired. He had been sitting, almost in a daze, staring at the setting sun from his window, waiting for it to disappear below the horizon. Even then, he waited until the last evidence of the sun was gone before standing and getting ready to go. If he didn't find anything there, he really didn't know what else he could do. How could he return to NCIS and work in conditions that would be even more intolerable?

He couldn't bear the thought and instead, got up and walked out of the room. He didn't look around at all as he left and walked to his car. There was no chance that he'd see anyone he knew. He'd picked a hotel south of Athens on purpose.

So he got into his car and drove out of the parking lot.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs probably would have missed him completely, except that he'd overslept and was storming out of the room, intent on making a complaint about malfunctioning alarm clocks, nevermind the greater likelihood that he'd simply screwed it up himself...and slept a whole lot longer than he'd expected. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the car squeal out of the parking lot.

It was a Porsche.

"McGee?" There was no point in asking...even if Tim could have heard him. He'd know that Porsche anywhere...just like he'd know Abby's car or Ziva's or Tony's...even Jimmy's...Ducky's would stand out anywhere. He took it upon himself to know what his people drove...for moments like this, he supposed.

Alarm clock forgotten, he ran to his car, knowing that he wouldn't have a chance to figure out where Tim was going next. He only knew that Tim had let his ghost out of his car and she'd disappeared. He didn't know for certain where he'd done that.

Already, Tim was speeding away and Gibbs saw his chance to catch up fading away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim knew exactly where he wanted to go. He could see it in his mind's eye...almost more clearly than he could see the road in front of him. How he got to the empty stretch of road with no accident, he'd never know. All his attention was focused on his destination, not the path to it.

When he reached the area, he pulled over and got out of his car, only barely remembering to close the door behind him. He went down the slight slope and ran into the trees.

The statue, at least, was still there, looking just like Gwen. It seemed strange to him, even now, that if no one knew who she was, there was a statue built for her. Why? Who had done it? When?

"Gwen, please," he said aloud, speaking to the unfeeling marble. "Please, I can't deal with this. I need to know...why me? Why did you tell me? How can I prove it to anyone? Help me, Gwen."

There was only silence in the small clearing. Nothing to indicate life or spiritual presence. Just a slight breeze.

"Why did you pick me?" he shouted. "Why not someone else? Why was it me who had to deal with this? I've done everything I can! I've done what I can...and it's not enough! Someone still died!" The statue blurred in Tim's vision. "He died! ...and no one believes me! Gwen...this is ruining my life! Why can't you at least tell me what happened to...to _you_? Why can't you give me some way of showing that this really happened? Why?"

The statue remained marble. Hard...cold...dead.

Tim felt helpless fury build up inside him. No one cared. No one trusted him. He was totally alone.

"What kind of a person _were_ you? How could you show up and then disappear without caring? Why?"

The wind began to pick up and the trees rattled against each other in the clearing.

"Why?" he shouted louder. "You wanted to help me before! Why not now?"

It seemed as though there was a gale blowing through.

"Were you there?" Tim was nearly screaming, so loud was the wind now. "Were you there and let him die? Did you kill him yourself?"

There was an answer, a long, low moan, almost indistinguishable from the moaning of the wind.

_Noooo..._

That wasn't enough.

"Then, you tell me what happened! Or make me forget! I can't tolerate this! I can't live like this! I can't live with being considered an idiot and a liar!"

A gust of wind blew him backward, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Tell me!" he screamed at the statue.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs lost Tim. He was simply going too fast, but Gibbs drove back and forth, knowing that it must have been in a relatively isolated area; otherwise, there would have been ample evidence of whatever Tim had seen.

Finally, on a whim, he took a road heading north...and was suddenly caught in a huge gale. It had come out of nowhere, but he saw Tim's car parked along the side of the road and he parked behind it. It actually took two tries to get his car door open, so fiercely was the wind blowing. As he fought against the wind, he thought he could hear someone screaming.

"McGee!" he shouted, but the wind tore his call away. He bent over, almost double to walk against the wind.

The screaming got louder and as he walked through the trees, he could have sworn he saw a glow coming from straight ahead of him.

"McGee!"

"Tell me!"

That was Tim's voice, no question, only so filled with anger and pain that Gibbs wondered what was going on in there. ...and where had the wind come from? As he forced himself forward, he looked up in time to see a brilliant flash of white light and broke into the clearing in time to see Tim flung backward about ten feet where he lay, unmoving.

It was like a small bomb had gone off...only without the fire...and Gibbs felt no heat, no shock wave. Only Tim seemed to have been affected. The gale contracted and swirled around the statue. Tim groaned and Gibbs ran to him.

Tim put a hand to his head and opened his eyes. He saw Gibbs and looked both annoyed and worried.

"What are you doing here, Boss?"

"Looking for you. How are you feeling?"

Tim started to sit up but then sank back down. "I think I'll just stay here for a while. You can go."

"Go? I don't think so."

"Why not, Boss?" Tim winced and rubbed at his temples. "Cut off the detritus. It's easier that way, isn't it? Get rid of the crazy guy on the team."

"I don't think you're crazy, McGee."

Tim looked up at him. "Then, what _do_ you think, Boss?"

Gibbs looked up at the wind...which was still strangely blowing around the statue but nowhere else.

"I don't know _what_ to think right about now."

Tim looked at Gibbs again and then pushed himself up and stared at the scene before them both. A snapping twig alerted them both to someone else...

Tim sighed. "I know you're there. Come out."

To Gibbs' surprise, a man stepped into the clearing.

"You," he said.

"Who are you really?" Tim asked. "And don't tell me you're a police officer. I know you're not. I checked."

The man looked over at the wind. "What did you do?"

"Who are you?" Tim asked again. He began to push himself to his feet, and when Gibbs tried to help or hinder, he shook him off.

"What have you done to Gwen?"

"Who is Gwen to you?" Tim asked, more surprised than he showed.

"She was my sister."

"What?"

"She was my sister. I made that statue for her...before she died...but after our dad kicked her out of the house."

"Why did you say that no one knew where it came from?"

"Because no one does...except me."

"Who are _you_?"

"I'm no police officer, as you already guessed. Actually the uniform I was wearing wasn't much of a uniform...but the people who are led here generally aren't in any state to notice. What have you done?"

"I demanded answers," Tim said. "Why dress up?"

"People trust the police. They'll listen where if I had simply been there to help, it would have looked suspicious. I was only there to see if I could talk to my sister, find out where she was when she died...who buried her." He took a few steps toward the statue. "I only wanted my sister back...but there's too much ground to cover and I have a life to live myself...even if she doesn't anymore."

"She was killed in Maryland. She's buried near Baltimore in an unidentified grave because no one ever claimed her body."

"She was murdered?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"I don't know. I can only guess."

"What happened to her?" The man turned from the statue and walked to Tim, grabbing him by the shoulders. "What happened to my sister?"

"Hey!" Gibbs grabbed the man's arm.

"I think she was killed by the same men who murdered a gas station owner 26 years ago."

Gibbs blinked, looking about as surprised as this man did. Tim hadn't even _intimated_ that he had the slightest idea. As much as he felt he wasn't trusted by the team, it looked like it was reciprocated. Why give any details of something no one believes?

"How?"

"She was stabbed to death. I found the autopsy report...or rather a friend of mine did. That's why no one ever linked the two events. The man in the gas station was shot. ...and neither of them were important enough for people to care."

The man turned away. "Oh, Gwen. I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you ever look?"

"I didn't have the slightest idea where to start. I made that statue, always hoping that she'd come back...but at the same time, I hoped that she was happy where she was, away from Dad who never understood her, away from a life she wasn't ready to lead. Gwen was different, it's true. She was obsessed with trying to get..._other_ places. She had no control over her emotions. Everything was felt so keenly...and it took a long time for hurts to heal. I was the only one who could handle her, even though I was more than ten years older." There was a hint of tears in his voice.

The wind suddenly died, sucked away into nothingness...and it was suddenly very quiet in the little clearing.

"I saw her twenty years ago. I saw her with a man in a car. She got out...and disappeared. Into thin air. The man freaked out. He...ran into the clearing and found the statue I'd made. I probably didn't help matters. He saw me and scampered...and just for a moment when I turned around, the statue was glowing. I knew, then, that she was dead. How long that had been happening before, I didn't know. I caught glimpses, but I never was able to speak to her. I tried."

"She wasn't happy," Tim said. "She was sad...and afraid...and alone. She had no one..."

Gibbs heard the tone and guessed that Tim was talking about more than Gwen.

"...and then she dumped all that on me and ruined _my_ life...like she ruined her own and I want to know _why_!" Tim stormed past the man to the statue. "Tell me _why_ you did this to me!" he shouted at the marble. "Isn't it enough that _you_ were miserable? Did you have to do it to me, too?"

Abruptly, the wind surged again, twisting in on itself, forcing Tim backwards...and then it stopped again and there was a woman, all in white, semi-translucent, crouched on the ground. Gibbs could faintly see the grass through her hands. She looked up at Tim.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why. Why, Gwen," Tim said, angry and hurt. "I helped you. I felt sorry for you..."

"Yes...in more ways than you know." She went to her knees, raising her hands toward Tim. "Please, forgive me. I had to...I needed to...to use you to right a wrong."

"Gwen."

She looked over at her brother and shook her head. "The statue is beautiful, Gawain."

"Not as beautiful as you, Gwendolyn."

She smiled, her light gray eyes filling with tears.

Gibbs stood well back from the trio, unable to believe what he was seeing. A ghost...a talking ghost.

"What do you mean, Gwen?" Tim asked, pulling her attention back.

"I never helped him...the man in the gas station! I saw the gun...I was afraid. I ran. I left him there. ...and they killed him. Those two men...they gave me a ride. I was trying to go home." She dropped her head. "Everything in my life...it was all nothing. I had lost...lost _everything_. I wanted to go home, to beg for forgiveness...to beg my father to believe me, to trust me again. I was so alone. The car I had managed to buy...it broke down and I didn't want to wait; so I walked, but it was so far." The wind swirled around her and her image wavered before stabilizing again. "They picked me up and said I could have a ride as far as they were going."

"And you saw the holdup."

She nodded, weeping and rocking back and forth. "Yes. I saw the gun and I was afraid. So I got out and started running along the road, but no one would stop! I waved my arms, trying to get someone to stop for me, but no one would! ...until they...they caught up." She began to sob. "They killed me...but I couldn't go...because I had let someone else die."

"Gwen, that wasn't your fault."

"Yes, Wayne, it was. If I had stayed...if I had tried to help...if I had run another direction...but I didn't. All I cared about was getting away...and now, I can't. Not ever. I'm stuck here." She looked at Tim again, pleadingly. "I was so desperate to find someone who could help me break this...this trap! ...and you...you were so kind...and you were like me. I could see the road of your life just like it was my own. You were hurt, feeling alone, feeling so unsure of yourself and of who you were. We were the same that night and I could see so...so clearly what was going to happen. And I saw the man's son. He would have died. He would have tried to stop his friend...or tried to save him...and they would both have died. I knew you could stop it. I saw your sister there. The more you told me of your past, the more I could see of your future. Oh, please, forgive me for wanting to be free. Please...please, Tim, forgive me."

Tim looked back over his shoulder at Gibbs, who was surprised to see tears in Tim's eyes. Then, he looked back.

"Gwen, your brother is right. It was never your fault. It's your guilt that's keeping you here, not some forced punishment. You're right. We are the same." Tim laughed sadly. "We take responsibility on ourselves...and then fall miserably short...and we pay the price...a price self-imposed and then reinforced with every word we hear. Gwen, you can go. Anytime you wish, you can go. Between us, people were saved. That's got to count for something...even if it's only between the two of us that it counts and not with anyone else."

"You forgive me, Tim?"

"For using me to save someone? I don't need to forgive. That's my job."

"Please."

Tim reached out and cupped his warm hands around her ghostly ones.

"I forgive you, Gwen. Go. Sleep where you should, don't keep yourself here any longer."

For the first time, Gwen got to her feet. She stood straight and looked at her brother.

"Good-bye, Wayne. I love you."

"I love you, Gwen. Be at peace."

The wind began to swirl again and Gwen's hair whipped in front of her face. Tim stood back and watched as she vanished in the gale.

"Good-bye, Gwen," he said softly.

Silence descended once more and the three men were alone in the clearing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Without the wind...and without Gwen, it was difficult to figure out what to say. These three men had been thrown together by fate it seemed...but now, Fate had taken off leaving them to figure it out on their own. Tim stared at the statue for a long time...and without looking away, asked one of the questions he had in his head. The questions he asked Gwen's brother would put off having to confront Gibbs...a prospect he found exhausting even to think about, let alone actually do.

"Gawain?"

He was rewarded with a soft chuckle. "I'm Wayne to most people. I have a sister named Elaine and a brother named Lancelot. My parents had King Arthur on the brain when it came to their children...although Gwendolyn was a queen of Britain who defeated her own husband in battle to take the throne. Gwen always was the odd one out in our family...to her detriment in a family that expected conformity."

"Why here?"

"The statue, you mean?" Wayne asked.

Tim nodded, still only looking at the statue.

Wayne sighed. "Gwen was different...and to my father that meant wrong. I don't think she would have turned out so...so different if he had just let her grow the way she wanted to." Wayne walked over and cleaned off some of the moss. "But no, not Dad. He had a plan for his children and they had to toe the line. It didn't go that far if we stuck inside the boundaries he'd erected. ...but for Gwen...she was wild...and could have been carefree given the chance...which she wasn't. She was sixteen when she finally started trying to assert herself. I was gone by then, had taken the chance to escape and investigate other avenues...like sculpture."

"So why here?" Tim asked again.

"Because this was the place Gwen felt safe. Oh, Dad never hit any of us, but when he would yell, we almost wished he would...it would have taken less time, would have hurt less. Mom had long since accepted whatever Dad said whether she agreed with it or not. Gwen would come here after Dad told her she was a freak, when she would get in trouble for not being like everyone else at school, she'd come here. She said it was a passageway to somewhere else, that it was a special place. In here, we were always Gwendolyn and Gawain. I knew where to come to find her; no one else did. She fought back for the last two years of high school and then, they had a huge fight. Gwen called me only once to tell me that she was starting over somewhere else, that she would find the magic in another place...and that she would call me when she was happy."

"But she never called, did she," Tim said, still staring at the statue. He was painfully aware of Gibbs standing silently behind him, but he said nothing.

"No. No, she never did." It seemed as though Wayne had never had the chance to talk about these things to anyone...and now he was pouring out all the hurt, the worry, the anger all in front of these two strangers. "I moved back to Athens a couple of years later. Dad'd had a stroke and Mom couldn't do anything on her own. Dad had done everything, made all the decisions. She was helpless without him. I started making this statue as a way of trying to call Gwen back...and at the same time wishing her happiness wherever she was. I put it up here in her refuge because I knew Dad would never see it, never find it...and that Dad couldn't ruin it. Gwen would always be safe here." He laughed ironically. "Dad died before it was finished. After I finished it, I left it here, thinking that when Gwen finally called me, I could tell her about it and she'd come back. It was probably selfish of me, but I really missed my baby sister. I got married, had a family...but not knowing where Gwen was, it cast a shadow over my life. I felt like, for a while at least, that I should have done more for her. In the end, my wife convinced me that Gwen would come when she was ready and I didn't have the right to try and force her. I lived my life...until that night...when I knew she was dead. It tore my heart out to realize it...and to know that there was nothing I could do."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I need to figure out some way to prove that...that woman they found murdered is my sister. I don't know how I'm going to do that, especially after all this time." He suddenly looked very old and Tim felt in his pocket.

"I know what you can do," Tim said slowly. "I have the place where she's buried written down. I have the articles from the newspaper when they found her. I have all the information. What you can do is take all that, and yourself and request to have her remains tested. In fact..." Tim bent over and wrote Ducky's name and phone number on the paper. "...you can call the M.E. at the place where I work and he can help you get through all the red tape. ...and you can bring her home."

"Why would you do all this?" For the first time, Wayne met Tim's eyes. "Why? How could you care so much about what happens to her when you haven't really known her?"

Tim smiled a little. "I know her. I..." He couldn't reveal all the pain he had shown to Gwen. Some things could only be shared between fellow sufferers. "I know her...and I want her to be safe and happy." He held out the papers. "Please. Take them."

Wayne took the pages and stared down at the means for finding his sister's body. Then, he looked at Tim once more, took two steps forward and hugged Tim tightly.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea..."

"You're welcome." That was all Tim could say. This man didn't need to know all the hurt, all the shame...how much of his life had been fractured by Gwen's choices.

"I don't know how I'll explain to Janet...but...but I'll think of something. She'd never believe me if I told her that I got it from someone who had seen Gwen's ghost. She's too practical for things like that." Wayne smiled a little tolerantly for his wife, not knowing how pointed his remarks were...but he did seem to remember his duties. "Hey, it's pretty late. You two need a place to stay tonight?"

Tim shook his head, knowing that any longer spent with this man would only make him feel worse.

"We're both in a hotel already. Thank you, though."

"I wish I could thank you as you deserve...but there's nothing I could do that would be enough."

"Just bring her home. That's enough."

Wayne nodded, and with a small gesture, waved good-bye and left the clearing. Tim stood for a few moments longer, staring at Gwen's statue and trying not to feel anything that might transfer to her. Whatever he felt about Gwen deep down, he didn't want her to suffer anymore for something that wasn't her fault.

"Good-bye, Gwen," he said as he had a few minutes before and then, he turned obliquely and walked away, not looking at Gibbs at all, wanting only to go back to his hotel and sleep...and maybe really sleep. He felt as though he hadn't really slept in ages. This was his chance to get away. He walked but noticed that Gibbs silently followed him.

He made it to his car, paused, looked around. They were alone. He turned.

"Don't bother saying anything, Boss. You being forced to admit that I was telling the truth isn't anywhere near enough."

"I didn't think it would be, McGee."

"Good. You're right about that much." With that, he got in his car and drove away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim made it back to his hotel and into his room without seeing Gibbs. He was glad of that. He had no idea how Gibbs had found him in the first place, but at least he had escaped. Shucking his jacket and his shoes, he stumbled toward the bed with the typical floral-print cover. Then, he flopped down on it and tried to let his exhaustion lead him toward the sleep he craved.

...but he couldn't sleep. The events of the night were such that he just couldn't turn his brain off...and every time he remembered it, he also remembered how Gibbs had not believed him, had not trusted him until the moment when he couldn't deny it, and _that_ made him angry which made his pulse speed up and pushed sleep even farther away.

Then, after about twenty minutes of fruitless stewing, there was a knock at the door and Tim knew who it would be. Who else _could_ it be, really? He thought about ignoring his boss and just lying on the bed until he deigned to leave. ...but he knew that would keep him from getting _any_ sleep at all and he was so very tired.

With a groan he rolled over and stood up. Not even bothering to check through the peephole, he swung open the door.

"What do you want now, Boss?"

"We need to talk, McGee."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"You're not going to be sleeping anyway."

Tim really hated it when Gibbs played the omniscience card. It was irritating that he was right so often. Sighing in resignation, he let go of the door and walked back to the bed. If Gibbs wasn't quick enough to stop it from closing on its own, he didn't deserve to come in.

The door closed quietly behind him. Tim sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as Gibbs sat down on one of the chairs (on casters) and rolled it closer. To get away from the Gibbs stare, Tim let himself fall back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling without speaking.

Gibbs didn't say anything either.

They were positioned that way for what felt like a very long time. Tim couldn't take it.

"Why are you here, Boss? I told you already. It's not enough. It will never be enough."

A brief pause.

"That was really hard for you, wasn't it...what happened at the memorial."

That wasn't what Tim had been expecting to hear, not at all. He had been expecting to talk about Gwen, not about Joshua. He sat up and stared at Gibbs in surprise.

"Wasn't it," he said again.

Tim swallowed and then lay back. "Yes," he said shortly, determined to say nothing else.

"You had to watch a man die. That's never easy, especially when you wanted to save him."

Tim felt a knot growing in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn't give in to that now, not when it would mean that Gibbs would see him break down in any way. Not now.

"Look, don't try and pretend that you're all understanding now, Boss. It's not going to work."

"I should have been paying more attention."

"You mean you should have been paying attention to the right things."

"Yes. You want to talk about it now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

That pulled Tim back upright. "What do you mean?"

"I've made quite a few mistakes over the past couple of days. Most of them dealing with you. I would have thought that you'd like to take advantage of the fact that you can yell at me with impunity."

While Tim would like nothing more, he had a hard time believing that he could vent his spleen on Gibbs without fear of any reprisals.

"I promise. Say what you like. It will have no bearing on your continued employment at NCIS...unless you want it to, of course."

Gibbs had never sounded so eminently reasonable and it was a little nerve-racking. Tim knew he'd done nothing to deserve such understanding.

"Or is it just that you really can't think of anything that I did wrong, that any of us did wrong at the memorial? I guess if that's the case, you really don't have anything to say. If it's all bound up in this stuff then..."

The words burst out of him before he could think even once, let alone twice.

"Do you honestly think that I don't know that I messed up at the memorial, Boss? Do you think that I'm not aware of how you guys acted? Do you think it didn't hurt to be treated like I was personally responsible for anything that went wrong there? Do you think that I wouldn't be mad if you had believed me when I first told you why I did what I did? Do you think that...that this stuff here is all that's been bothering me?"

Gibbs didn't reply...but Tim wouldn't have noticed if he had...nor did he notice the small fleeting expression of relief that crossed Gibbs' face as Tim continued to talk.

"A man died on my watch, Boss. _My_ watch. Not yours. Not Ziva's. Not Tony's. Mine. Whether or not I could have stopped him, whether or not I _should_ have been able to stop him...it doesn't really matter because what happened was that I couldn't keep him from being killed...and I tried my best to stop him. Do you know how it feels to think that everything, that every_one_'s life is riding on your decision? Every minute down there, I was waiting for the worst to happen...but I didn't even know what the worst was. I had no idea how much worse it could get from the moment I stepped forward and stopped thinking like an agent and more like..." He couldn't face Gibbs anymore. He got up and walked around to the other side of the bed so that he could face the wall. "...like a brother, trying to protect his family."

Gibbs nodded but still didn't speak. ...and Tim continued.

"I don't even want to _think_ about that. When I do...I can't believe that I did what I did. I can't believe that more people didn't die. I can't believe that I didn't screw up as much as you all thought I had. I just...I looked into his eyes, Boss," Tim stood and walked to the window, staring out at the dark parking lot. There were no lights on in his room either. "And all I wanted to was to help him. He was so lost. He was so alone. He wasn't angry. He wasn't murderous...even though he did kill people. It wasn't what he had meant to do. He wasn't right in the head. I know that, but he could have been. ...and I really wanted to help him. ...but in the end, I couldn't. Gwen wanted to save Woody. She felt she had to do that to justify herself...and she did whatever it took. I couldn't do that. I could have saved him, Boss. I could have saved Joshua...but I wasn't willing to make the sacrifice to do it."

Tim thought again about that moment when he'd had to decide what he was going to do...whether or not he was going to save his team. Not that it was really a decision to make. Of course he'd save the team if he could. ...if he could. That was the difficulty. He'd had no way of knowing whether or not his attempt was going to be successful. ...and to have everyone essentially make him feel like he'd failed...when he'd done pretty well... It was just another blow.

"It's like I can never be good enough to do my job right," he said, almost to himself. He'd really mostly forgotten Gibbs was even there. "I always mess up somewhere." He laughed ironically. "It took a ghost telling me what to do this time...and even that was wrong. I just can't win."

Gibbs had been listening patiently because, as he'd begun to suspect, the real problem was less about Gwen and more about things said and done surrounding Gwen's appearance...and how those things had affected Tim's own self-perception. He had heard what Tim said to Gwen and was beginning to realize how true it was. Tim was a blackbelt in beating himself up. No one could possibly punish him more than he punished himself. ...but in this case, everyone had certainly tried.

"You don't have to win," Gibbs said finally.

Tim turned from the window, almost startled to hear Gibbs' voice. He opened his mouth to speak but then changed his mind and looked back out the window.

"I mean that, McGee. This job isn't about winning and losing. It's about making the world a bit safer in our own small ways. It's not about getting awards or recognition."

Tim spun back. "I don't _care_ about getting awards! Sure, it's nice, but it's not about that!"

"Do you think I could care less about whether or not you are seen as tops in your field by anyone outside NCIS?" Gibbs retaliated. "I don't care. That rejection meant a lot more to you than it ever could to people inside NCIS."

Tim said nothing.

"The problem with you, McGee, is that you see everything as a reflection on how well you do your job. A conference, a panel, an award...those things don't matter so long as you do your job well."

"I know that, Boss."

"Then, why do you let Tony's teasing bother you so much?"

Anger warred with frustration and shame in Tim's mind.

"Well?"

"Because..." Shame won. "...because he's so good at making me feel like a failure. I know he doesn't mean it like that...not most of the time...but...but some things just aren't... And these last couple of days, it hasn't even been about that. It really hasn't. It hasn't been about the conference or even... It's about..." Tim stopped talking again.

"What, McGee?"

"Do you guys even _want_ me on the team?" Tim said finally.

"Of course, we do," Gibbs said, surprised at the question. Ducky had said he would start to question his place...but it hadn't crossed Gibbs' mind that Tim might think _they_ didn't want him there.

"I just can't tell," Tim said and trudged back to the bed, sinking down onto the hard mattress and balancing his elbows on his knees. "Sometimes, I just get the feeling that...that you really don't want me there, that you wish I'd quit or that you could get rid of me. And yesterday...I was doing my best. I really was...but it wasn't good enough, and all I got from everyone was how dumb I was. I guess I figured...that you were tired of me being on the team."

"Is that what all this has been about?"

Tim shrugged. "I wanted to know why she had...if she had... but I really, _really_ wanted to find out so that I could show you that...that I wasn't as crazy or as incompetent as you seemed to think I was. I was really trying, Boss!" He looked up. "I really was, and I wouldn't have moved forward if I hadn't seen Sarah. Honest...not unless I saw something happen, that you needed help. Honest, Boss."

"I know, McGee. Now, I know...and I'm sorry that I didn't trust you. I should have...at least trusted that you would have checked all this out for yourself. If you still believed after everything, I should have trusted you...and we all should have expressed ourselves better...although that shouldn't be a big surprise. We weren't wanting you gone. We worried that you _would_ be...permanently."

Tim laughed nervously and rubbed his head with his hands. "Boss...I..."

Gibbs stood up. "Look, McGee, I'll bet you haven't had a decent night's sleep since your wandering through the supernatural started. Am I right?"

Tim nodded but didn't look up.

"Sleep. Get some rest. Relax for the rest of the week and come back on Monday. I'd be willing to bet that both Ziva _and_ Tony will be happy to have you back. ...and I'll make sure you get the debriefing I _should_ have scheduled for you yesterday. That was my fault. You shouldn't have been forced into a defensive position after something like what happened, especially when your sister was in danger."

He started for the door.

"One question, Boss."

He stopped.

"Yeah, McGee?"

"Why didn't you trust me?"

Gibbs turned around and saw Tim standing, head tilted to the side, eyes wide and questioning.

"Because, McGee...even _I_ make mistakes sometimes...and not trusting my agent was a big mistake. An apology isn't enough. You're right. It shouldn't be enough...but it's a start, and I'm sorry I didn't trust you, McGee. After all the times you've shown absolute faith in me, the least I could have done was reciprocate."

Tim nodded, not happily. It wasn't over, but he was agreeing that it was a start. Gibbs left and only let out his sigh of relief once the door was closed behind him. He _had_ made a mistake and he was devoutly relieved that his mistake hadn't done irreparable damage.

...and as he headed back to his hotel, he thought about the coincidences that had led him to finding Tim's exact location...

...and he wondered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"You know...it feels like something is missing," Tony said.

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Something _is_ missing, Tony. Gibbs has been gone and McGee _will_ be until next week."

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Then, what _do_ you mean, Tony?"

Tony shrugged and looked over at Tim's empty desk. "It's just weird, you know?"

"No, I do not know."

"McGee...just up and disappearing like that. He was acting so strange when we got back from the memorial. Then, Gibbs shows up and says that he got shot...and we didn't even know it! And McGee's been gone ever since. Have _you_ seen him?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, but that does not mean anything."

The elevator doors opened...revealing Abby in all her frenetic glory.

"Guys, where's Tim? I haven't seen him in _ages_! He was gone all week, didn't come down to see me at all yesterday and he wasn't at home and he wasn't answering his phone and...where is he?"

"McGee is not at home?" Ziva asked, in surprise.

"No! And it's really weird. What happened yesterday? Why did Tim just leave? Why isn't he back today? Where is he?"

Tony looked at Ziva in concern. "Where would he be? He wouldn't have been fit to drive home, would he?"

"Not fit?" Abby's voice soared. "What do you mean, not fit?"

"He got a bullet graze yesterday."

"What?!"

"He's all right, Abby," Tony said quickly. "It was just a graze. Gibbs just..." For some reason, Tony didn't even _want_ to discuss Tim's foolish actions. He couldn't figure out why. "...just wanted to give him time to recover...and he saved a lot of people."

"He did?" Abby asked, surprised. "Then, why didn't he come and tell me about it? Why is he gone...and not answering his phone? What about Jethro!"

"I don't know _why_ he's gone," Tony confessed. "Maybe we should check on him."

"I will call Gibbs," Ziva said. "Perhaps he can enlighten us."

"I could trace his cell phone," Abby suggested hopefully. "Then, we'd at least know where he is."

Tony had doubts about this...but for some reason, he was worried, too, as if Tim's return _depended_ on them finding him. He was the first to admit that his gut wasn't as savvy as Gibbs' was, but it was telling him that they needed to find out where Tim was.

"Do it, Abbs."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Jimmy sat in Ducky's office, taking one of his morning breaks while Ducky was out...somewhere. He was holding his cell phone in his hand and wondering if he should do what he was considering. He knew that _he_ would be a bit wary of someone just up and saying that they knew how _he_ felt about his dad. ...and yet, if he was under assault about it, he might like to have the moral support.

What was the worst that could happen anyway? It wasn't like he and Tim were bosom buddies...which was part of the problem, of course. They hung out after work occasionally but it wasn't as friends. It was as coworkers...and it seemed odd to be offering a heart-to-heart to a simple coworker.

Swallowing his nerves, Jimmy dialed. ...and got Tim's voice mail.

"Hey...McGee, it's Jimmy. Palmer. At NCIS. I just...well...I heard Agent Gibbs talking to Dr. Mallard...about you...and...what I wanted to say was that... well...if you ever wanted to talk about... it, I'm available. I mean, not _available_ but...um...man, this is all coming out stupid. What I'm trying to say, McGee, is that I believe you and I've had...my own experience. If you want to talk... Bye."

Jimmy hung up, feeling stupid...but also, unaccountably relieved.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim rolled over and sat up. He had slept a long time...and for the first time in days felt as though he had actually slept, not just lost consciousness for a period of time. He thought about what had happened the night before, both in the clearing and when Gibbs had finally got a clue. At that, Tim felt himself get angry again. He was still mad, at Gibbs, at Tony and Ziva. He just didn't see why it was that they could never appreciate what he was able to do. This whole series of events had only served to highlight that fact. It wasn't fair. If _he_ had been the one razzing Tony for ages about failing miserably, he would probably get a lecture along the lines of the one Gibbs had given him about Tony calling him Probie. If _he_ had been the one acting like Tony or Ziva never did anything right he would surely get a lecture from either Gibbs or Abby (maybe both) about appreciating the work of his colleagues.

...but because it was Tim, it didn't matter, and that made him a little bit angry and frustrated. ...and of course, the fact that he had been taken advantage of by a ghost of all things didn't help.

A wry smile crossed his face. Even ghosts treated him like something to be used and discarded. He was an easy mark, it seemed.

There was a knock on his door and he sighed, knowing that it would be Gibbs. He had said Monday, but Tim wasn't surprised that he was back again. He knew as well as Gibbs did that their discussion wasn't enough to repair the damage. No matter what Gibbs said about the reasons for how everyone acted, it still made him rather irritated. Wouldn't a simple, "how are you feeling, McGee?" be better than the "are you stupid?" that he had received?

He got up and walked over, opening the door in resignation.

"I thought you were letting me wait until Monday, Boss," Tim said.

"You hungry?"

"Not really..." Tim got the distinct impression that Gibbs wouldn't leave it at that. "...but give me a few minutes."

He closed the door and got dressed in real clothes. Then, he grabbed his phone and reluctantly turned it back on. He had about a million missed calls from Abby, from Tony, from Ziva, from Ducky...but only one message. He listened to it and heard Jimmy's tentative invitation. It made him smile but more than that, it meant something to him that Jimmy not only believed him but also that he'd had the courage to tell Tim about it.

A long sigh, and the phone went back off. He didn't feel like dealing with NCIS people right now. Then, Tim opened the door. Gibbs was standing on the steps, talking on his cell phone. When he heard the door, he turned around and held the phone out to Tim.

"Here."

"What?"

"Talk to Tony and convince him that you're not dead."

Tim furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Just talk to him, McGee!"

Tim took the phone. "What?"

"_McGee, why has your phone been off? Have you forgotten the cardinal rule?"_

Tim thought it sounded like Tony was a little worried. "Which one? There are fifty cardinal rules."

"_Never be unreachable, McGee!"_

"You could have left a message if you needed to tell me again what an idiot I was, Tony," Tim said. "I do check my voice mail...quite regularly, in fact."

There was a long pause.

"_That...wasn't why we were calling, McGee."_

"Really? Then, why were you? You knew that Gibbs sent me home."

"_You weren't _at_ home, McGee. You got shot and didn't tell anyone!"_

Tim rolled his eyes. "A bullet graze hardly counts as getting shot. It hurt, but it wasn't like I had a gaping hole. So...why did you call? Why did Ziva call? Why did Abby call? You guys must have tried my phone fifty times. If I didn't know any better, I'd even guess that you might have been a little worried about me."

"_We...just wanted to make sure you were...okay."_

"You couldn't do that on Wednesday?" Tim retorted. "Oh, wait. I forgot. You were too busy telling me that I was lucky the guy didn't kill me since I obviously couldn't handle doing anything right." He looked at Gibbs to see if he was going to say something...or even _look_ something at him. He didn't.

There was another pause, this one obviously uncomfortable.

"_Yeah...about that..."_

"Don't bother, Tony, please," Tim said, feeling suddenly tired again. "I think I'm just a little tired of you guys only thinking that there might be a problem when you push me too far. Maybe you could try pulling back and thinking that someone other than yourself might have been having a bad day." He held the phone out to Gibbs, even though he could hear that Tony was talking again. "I'm done talking to him, Boss."

Gibbs actually smiled as he took the phone. "Yeah, DiNozzo. No. No. Do I have to tell you twice? Good." He hung up. "I think they're worried. Tony got Abby to trace your phone."

"Yeah," Tim said, unimpressed. He supposed he should be wondering what Tony had said, but he couldn't muster the curiosity.

"I take it you're still mad?"

"You think you being _forced_ to admit that I was telling the truth makes everything okay? That because Tony and Ziva finally got a clue I should just say that everything is peachy?"

"No, actually. I don't."

"Good."

"Come on. I'm sure you need something to eat."

Tim had to concede that was probably true. He couldn't remember what his last meal had been. He followed Gibbs down the steps and into the lobby where there was a cheap complimentary breakfast. There was no one else in there at the moment; so Tim grabbed the first things that came to hand and sat down. He stared at the small box of Frosted Flakes.

_Well, I suppose expecting dinosaur cereal would be too much for this place,_ he thought feeling an inappropriate desire to laugh...which was swiftly followed by an equally inappropriate and strange desire to cry. He swallowed and focused on pouring milk onto the cereal, hoping that Gibbs wouldn't try to talk to him right away.

Gibbs said nothing. He just sat across from Tim and drank his coffee (of course). When Tim finished, he stood and followed him out of the lobby and across the parking lot.

"What was with that, Boss?" he asked, gesturing back over his shoulder to the lobby they'd just left.

"You needed to eat. I didn't think you'd do it if you were left to your own devices."

Again, the inappropriate desire to cry. Tim turned away.

"You want to talk about it?"

"With you? Not particularly."

"Why don't you try it anyway?"

"I could just wait until Monday."

"Since your issue is mostly with me, why don't you talk to me instead?"

"I already said what I had to say."

"What you'd been _wanting_ to say, maybe...but not what you need to say."

"What do I _need_ to say, then?" Tim asked, but without any heat. He was just tired again.

"That SEAL at the memorial."

"I said what I needed to say about that."

Gibbs smiled that annoyingly knowing smile he had. "No, you didn't. Not all."

"Please, stop acting like you understand, now, Boss," Tim said. "You don't. You're not the one who tried so hard to save everyone... only to fail at the last minute." He had said he didn't want to talk about it, but Gibbs was bringing him around to it anyway and Tim felt his throat closing up.

"You didn't fail, McGee."

"He still died, Boss." Tim started walking again, only to have Gibbs grab his arm. He tried to pull away, but failed. "Once Sarah was safe, he's the only one I wanted to save...but I couldn't sacrifice you guys for him."

"Well, I'm glad of that. If one of us was about to die, I'm glad you didn't let that happen."

Tim couldn't smile. He just sat down on the steps and buried his head in his hands. He felt Gibbs sit beside him.

"Did I get him killed, Boss? Is what I did the reason he died? If I had done my job right, would he still be alive?"

"You did your job right, McGee. ...okay, not that disobeying orders part, but you did your job right. You saved everyone who _could_ have been saved."

"Joshua didn't have to die."

"In his mind, he probably did."

"I know...but isn't it our job to stop people from dying?"

"No."

Tim sat up. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, that's not our job. We're not superheroes, McGee. Our job is to try and prevent crimes from happening...but that's by stopping criminals from acting again. We usually can't do anything to stop them from acting the first time...because we don't _know_ who's going to turn out to be a criminal. That's not what our job is about."

Tim looked down and grimaced, even though Gibbs couldn't possibly see his face.

"...and we were wrong to treat you like we did because basically we did act as though you had done everything wrong. Tony and Ziva haven't clued into that consciously yet, but even they are beginning to figure that out. Why do you think they're suddenly so worried about you not being there?"

"Because it changes the status quo," Tim said, glumly.

_Thwack!_

"I'm not saying they deserve immediate forgiveness or endless forbearance, McGee. You have every right to get angry. ...but do give credit where credit is due. If they didn't want you on the team, they wouldn't be worried enough to get Abby to trace your phone."

Tim nodded, still angry but knowing that Gibbs was right about that much.

"Are you going to tell them?"

Tim didn't need to ask what Gibbs meant. He knew. "No."

"All right."

"They wouldn't accept it...or believe it. ...and I couldn't stand to have Tony joke, not about this. He never knows when to stop, and I couldn't take him joking about this, not about Gwen and all that happened. I'd rather have them believe that I lost my head because of Sarah being down there."

"All right."

"You're not going to tell me something about how they'd understand and I should trust them?" Tim asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "No...mostly because I don't think they _would_ understand. I don't and I saw it. It's up to you. After everything _I've_ said and done, I think I've forfeited any right to tell you what to do about it."

Tim nodded and sat quietly for a while, staring contemplatively at the concrete.

"But you _can_ trust them in most things, McGee."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, I know."

"You still have until Monday, McGee. I'll set up the debriefing. If you want to keep it on a level most people are used to, I'll back up your version."

Gibbs stood up and started to leave, but Tim had another thought pop into his head suddenly.

"Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you find where I was last night?" He might have imagined it, but Tim thought that Gibbs actually seemed a little awkward at the question.

"A series of coincidences."

"I thought you didn't believe in coincidences."

"Either I have to believe in coincidences or I have to believe in ghosts." Gibbs smiled a little and continued on his way.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Tim walked almost hesitantly off the elevator on Monday. His belated debriefing was scheduled for that morning and he hadn't had any desire to talk to Tony or Ziva, not until he could decide if he was still mad at them or not. He couldn't even blame it on the whole ghost thing since they didn't know about it...and that was something that wasn't going to change. At some point, he might tell Abby, but he didn't want to tell Abby because she would be too likely to let it slip and that was something he couldn't deal with.

No one was in the bullpen yet, and he was grateful for that. He was able to dash up to the small office for his official debriefing. It was relatively painless. The psychiatrist engaged by NCIS to conduct the debriefing recommended a few visits with a therapist since stressful situations such as what had happened at the memorial could be sublimated only to come out again when least expected. He also was on the receiving end of some hard questions about his motivations for his actions. Confessing his need to save his sister was enough but it was also something that would gain him an official warning. Special agents needed to keep their heads no matter _who_ was in danger. Tim could accept that.

"Before you go, Agent McGee..."

Tim paused in the middle of rising. "Yeah? Aren't we done?"

"One more thing."

"What?"

"We never talked about your team and their behavior."

Tim sank back to his seat. "What do you mean?"

"I was given to understand that you might have some issues with how they acted."

"They were worried about what I'd done. It was in direct violation of Gibbs' orders. They had every right to be concerned."

"Their reactions didn't bother you?"

"They did," Tim said shortly.

"Have you spoken with them about it?"

"Not much. I wasn't at work for the rest of the week."

"And you didn't attempt to speak to them at all?"

"No. I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

"I figured it wouldn't do any of us any good."

"Agent McGee, my role is only as an official evaluator for NCIS. I can't take the place of addressing any problems you may have with your team. ...and if there _are_ problems, you will _need_ to sort them out."

Tim suddenly felt very angry. He stood up and began to shout. "Why does it have to be _me_ who sorts it all out? Why shouldn't _they_ do something? Why is it that it always falls on me to prove that I was right? Why is it expected of _me_ to mess up and why is it okay to rub my nose in it for days after I screw up when if I do the slightest thing to any of _them_ I get lectured or reprimanded for it? Shouldn't _they_ be bearing some of the responsibility for _sorting things out_?"

"Those are very good questions, Agent McGee. Have you asked _them_?"

"No," Tim said, slightly embarrassed by his outburst.

"This is what I'm talking about, Agent McGee. Your issues with your teammates aren't only due to what happened last week, are they?"

Tim shook his head. "No."

"You need to work this out with them because it's entirely possible that they don't even realize that this _is_ an issue, and if you're waiting for them to do something, you may be waiting for a long time. _That_ is something that won't do any of you any good."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, McGee's back," Tony said, pointing to Tim's bag by his desk. "Where is he?" He looked around as if he could conjure up Tim just by asking the question.

"I do not know, Tony. I just arrived myself," Ziva said, but she, too, was looking around to see where Tim had gone.

"You two done rubbernecking?" Gibbs asked on his way down the stairs.

"Where's McGee, Boss?"

"Having his debriefing. He didn't get it done from the situation at the memorial last week."

"Is he in trouble, Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"Some."

"...but if he was sent home last week, is that not enough?" she asked. "He acted foolishly, but no one else got hurt."

"Yeah, it's not like there wasn't a good reason if Sarah was there. Heck, anyone would be thrown off by seeing a family member involved."

"He also disobeyed orders and put people's lives at risk," Gibbs said.

"No, he didn't! Not really. McGee's so careful that even when he acts without thinking, he thinks first." Tony then seemed to catch on to the fact that he was essentially contradicting himself. "...even if I said...something else last week...Boss."

"Figured that out, did you?" Gibbs said. He looked up and saw Tim coming out of the office. He looked down once and then walked over to Vance's office without speaking to them.

"He has to talk to Vance?" Ziva asked. "He did nothing worthy of being fired!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I think you have work to do."

Neither of them moved.

"Did you think that was a suggestion?" Gibbs asked.

"No, Boss!" Tony sat down at his desk.

Ziva also sat down...but they both looked up toward Vance's office a few times. Gibbs couldn't help but smile a little bit. He had been slow to figure things out himself, but it was about time they expressed some sort of concern.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Anything else, Agent McGee?" Vance asked.

"No, Director," Tim said. "I admit that my actions put others at risk and I am fully prepared to accept any additional punishment you deem necessary."

Vance sat down at his desk and looked at Tim's open file.

"You have no other black marks against you during your employment here. I'd hate to ruin that, but..."

Tim nodded. "But what I did was wrong, even if the rest of it came out all right."

"More than all right, Agent McGee," Vance said. "I think what happened was the best outcome we could have expected from the situation."

Tim took a breath. "I'm not...I'm not Agent Gibbs, Director," he said. "I'm supposed to follow the rules. I don't want you to be making allowances for me based only on the outcome. I believe in the rules. They're there for a reason. What happened could just as easily have gone horribly wrong. I'm not a negotiator. I'm not trained to be one. I should not have been involved except as backup for Agent Gibbs. There were extenuating circumstances, but I should have thought...but I didn't. Not even once."

Vance considered for a long moment. "I agree with you, Agent McGee. You most definitely are _not_ Gibbs." He smiled. "...but you still try to tell me how to do my job."

Tim flushed and then laughed. "Sorry, Director."

"I also agree that you should have thought before getting involved and that things could have gone very wrong. And, as much as I would like to reward you for your actions, I can't ignore the circumstances. However, I do disagree with you that the results mean nothing."

"So...what's going to happen?"

"You'll receive an official reprimand, not a permanent tag. It will remain there for three years."

Tim nodded. "Yes, sir."

"All right. It's not ideal, but you understand."

"I understand. It's as much about saving face as anything isn't it."

Vance gave him a sympathetic smile. "Politics mean more than they should."

Tim stood. "A lot of things mean more than they should. I'm used to that."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim came out of Vance's office and looked toward the bullpen. It was empty again. He was glad of that, but it also made things more difficult. He knew he'd have to talk to them eventually, and he just wasn't sure how he was going to go about it. He walked down the stairs and sat at his desk, considering what was the best course of action.

He looked at his watch and sighed. It was nearly noon, but he wasn't particularly hungry and wasn't sure what he should be doing at the moment. With the team gone, he wasn't sure if he should wait for them to come back or if he should just go home.

"Going home would be nice," he muttered.

"Oh...hey, McGee."

Tim looked up. "Hi, Jimmy."

"They left you behind?"

"I guess. I was...busy." He paused. "I...I got your message."

Jimmy fidgeted. "Yeah...it was kind of dumb, right?"

Tim smiled. "Thanks. You want to grab lunch? My treat."

"Sure."

As they walked out of NCIS, Tim wasn't really sure what to say. Something along the lines of, _So...you saw a ghost too, huh?_ It sounded stupid even in his head.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We should have waited for McGee," Tony said.

"Why? Too much work for you to do, Tony?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah! Who am I supposed to force to do all the crappy jobs?" Tony wrinkled his nose. "Like take samples from the bathroom?"

Ziva smiled evilly. "You are doing the inside, yes? I am outside. You chose it."

"Thanks, Ziva."

"...but I wish McGee was here, too." She looked at the bathroom and grinned. "Then, we could _both_ laugh at you."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So...um...you said..."

"That I'd seen a ghost. Yeah." Jimmy nodded.

"Who? ...if you don't mind me asking."

"My dad. He died in a car accident when I was little. He saved me from getting into an accident myself."

"Wow. Did you ever tell anyone?"

"Yeah. My mom."

"She believed you, right?"

Jimmy smiled and shook his head. "No. I told her about seeing my dad in my bedroom. She sent me to a therapist."

"Why didn't she believe you?"

Jimmy laughed. "Because I told her that I was talking to my dad in my bedroom at night after he died. What would _your_ mom have said?"

Tim laughed, too. "Okay, yeah. ...but weren't you mad?"

"Sure...but she's my mom. Can't stay mad at her forever."

"She never believed you?"

"Well, after a few weeks, I just said I'd been having dreams and they seemed real." He shrugged. "Didn't stop Dad from coming...until I was old enough not to need him in my room every night."

"And then?"

"Then, I went to his grave and talked to him there. It was what I needed."

"You didn't ever tell your mom about that?"

"Nah. It was kind of my own story...and I didn't need to have her disbelieve me again. She'd come to grips with Dad dying already and so I didn't want to go into it."

"You weren't mad about that?"

"Not by that time. Some people just can't believe. It's not their fault."

"You're more noble than I am."

Jimmy laughed. "Because I only had one person doubt me and I forgave her for it? I was mad at Mom plenty, but I knew she was only worried because she loved me...cheesy as that is. We only had each other."

Tim nodded and looked at his sandwich.

"I don't...know all the details. What happened with you?"

Embarrassed, Tim shrugged. "I filled up at a nonexistent gas station, picked up a hitchhiker, drove her to Ohio and she disappeared after predicting my future. ...and even though I tried to act like I didn't believe it had really happened, I still reacted to everything when I got back as if it had. ...and I'm still not sure if I did the right thing."

"Wow. That's way different from what I had."

"It had happened to other people...but...not exactly the same. Turns out she wanted me to help do something she couldn't do herself." Tim laughed as if it didn't bother him. "...even ghosts take advantage of me."

"At least it was for a good cause. I mean, think if it had been someone like Tony telling you that you needed to go out and get laid."

"What?"

"Well...uh...I mean..." Jimmy stumbled over his explanation. "She wanted to save someone, right?"

"Yeah."

"She wanted something good to happen. That's what I meant."

"Yeah. She did. Doesn't mean I'm not mad at her for making me be the means."

"And it doesn't mean you're not mad at everyone else for making it more difficult?" Jimmy asked with unusual perspicacity.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only because I know you're having issues."

"Issues?" Tim asked with a laugh. "You make me sound like a hysterical woman."

"Sorry. I grew up with my mom, remember?"

"And your dad in your room...or did he have issues, too?"

"We didn't really talk about that stuff."

"So...what _did_ you talk about?"

"Just...stuff. What I wanted to be, how I was doing in school. The kinds of things people talk about with their dads. Nothing deep. I think he just wanted to be sure that I was okay. ...and the one time I wouldn't have been, he did what dads do. He saved me...from getting in an accident."

"You know...if I was going to be seeing a ghost, I would much rather have it be someone who cared about my well-being than someone who wanted to use me."

"She had enough faith in you to trust that you could do it. That's pretty impressive."

"She was just desperate...and she felt a lot like I did. Nothing special there."

"Do you regret helping her out then?"

"No. Not really. It just screwed up my life is all."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it just helped you out...seeing stuff that bugged you."

"How could that help?"

Jimmy laughed. "Maybe I've been hanging around Dr. Mallard too much...but sometimes when we see what's wrong, we can take steps to fix it. You know...what's _really_ wrong...instead of what we _think_ is wrong."

Tim sat back. Sometimes, Jimmy surprised him in a good way...rather than the slightly disturbing way he usually did. "You _have_ been hanging around Ducky too much. ...but that doesn't mean you're wrong. In fact, it probably means that you're right."

"Do they all know?"

Tim shook his head. "No...and I'm not going to tell them. Can you imagine Tony's reaction?"

Jimmy laughed and then began to do a remarkably accurate impression of Tony. "Watch out, everyone. McGhost Hunter has had another vision! Best be wary! What do you think, Probie? A haunting or just a hunting?"

Tim laughed. "Yeah..."

"Ziva would do that staring thing that scares the jeebers out of me...and Abby would instantly want to hook you up to monitors to see if she could duplicate the experience. ...or maybe she'd try that embarrassing hypnosis thing again."

"I think I'd step in front of a truck before I'd let Abby try to hypnotize me."

"Me, too. Now." Jimmy blushed. Then, he looked at his watch. "Oh, great. Lunch hour is over. I was late this morning. I'd better not be late again. Dr. Mallard will tan my hide and display it to my replacement." He jumped up and then paused. "Any time you need to talk, McGee. Really."

"Thanks, Jimmy." He watched Jimmy leave and then sat back again.

This whole experience _had_ highlighted some things that were wrong...and not everything was due to the team. Some of it was him. Some of it was his tendency to try and build himself up and to pin everything on a single moment...only to have it all come crashing down around his ears when something went wrong. It wasn't even about not getting a reward, not getting chosen for a conference panel. It was about needing some sort of verification that he was doing things right.

Some of it, though, he could and did set squarely on the shoulders of his teammates. He knew that people were raised differently, but friendship and even work relationships shouldn't be confined so much to putdowns when things were going right and only have concern shown when things were horribly, horribly wrong.

So the end result of all this was...what? He had to decide, had to _do_ something about it. He couldn't... Tim's thought stuttered to a halt as he recognized anew the reason for the connection between Gwen and himself. Gwen had run away...both times...and this was her final desperate attempt to do something about her previous inaction. Was he going to let his own life get to that level of desperation? Or was he, as Jimmy had pointed out, going to acknowledge that there were some things that were wrong and try to fix them while the problem was fixable? Fix them without making it into the end of the world, without falling back on his old standby of personal humiliation.

Gwen had given him more than one warning...perhaps more of a warning than she herself had realized, and Tim was ready to heed that warning.

He stood up and left the food court.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Tim was sitting at his desk when Tony, Ziva and Gibbs got back. He hadn't decided what to say, what to do. He was just sitting there, almost afraid of talking to them. Deciding to do something hadn't made him any wiser about _what_ he should do.

"Hey, McGee!" Tony said, and there was a definite note of relief and happy surprise in his voice. "Welcome back!"

Tim waved faintly. "Hi."

"McGee, it _is_ good to see you back. Are you all right?" Ziva asked. She was smiling, no sign of the derision that had marked their last interaction.

"I'm fine, Ziva. It wasn't serious."

"You back to work, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, Boss."

"Good. Get this down to Abby." He held out their gathered evidence.

"Yes, Boss." Tim stood and headed toward the elevator.

"I could..."

"You have reports to file, DiNozzo."

Tim heard the voice behind him, and he had to wonder just how long Tony would be acting like a strange nice version of himself. Still, he rode down to Abby's lab and was almost relieved to face her amazingly enthusiastic greeting.

"Timmy! Where have you _been_?"

"At home and visiting home," Tim said. "Why?"

"We were so worried about you!"

"Why?"

"You disappeared, Tim!" Abby said, hugging him tightly. "It was like _It's A Wonderful Life_ only we knew that you were gone!"

"Um...what? Abby, I was gone for a few days."

"It felt like forever! You should have seen Tony and Ziva; they were both worried that you were_ gone_ gone."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but they were acting like we _had_ to find you or else you'd never come back." She tightened her arms around him.

"Abby...can't breathe!"

"Were you thinking of leaving, Tim?"

Tim thought about it. He'd never really even considered that more than to yell at Gibbs.

"Tim?"

"No...not really."

"Not really? So...a little bit?"

"Not really," Tim said again.

Abby pulled back. "Tim, what happened last week?"

"Just the memorial stuff, Abbs."

"Yeah...so, why would that make you want to quit?"

"I don't want to quit."

"So...what happened?"

"Abby, you're confusing me!"

"Tim, you're mad at them, aren't you!"

"A little bit, yeah."

"Why?"

"Just...nothing really, Abby." Tim cast about for something else to say. "I have this stuff from Gibbs."

Abby glared at him for a moment. "Let me see it."

Tim was relieved and held up the evidence bags. They spent the rest of the afternoon going through the stuff from the new case. Abby was thankfully focused on the flash drive and the corrupted data on it along with all the material she had to process. Tim was grateful for the reprieve in speaking with Tony and Ziva as well. It was not a conversation he wanted to have. It was just one he knew was necessary.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tim returned to the bullpen late in the day, he noticed both Tony and Ziva watching him. He sat down, looked around. Gibbs was somewhere else. He took a deep breath and stood up. He walked over to Tony and stuck out his hand.

"Hi, I'm Tim McGee. I don't believe we've met," he said.

"What?" Tony asked. "You feeling all right, McGee?"

"Are _you_?" He now included Ziva. "You both have been acting really weird today. I thought maybe there had been some sort of switch off between the usual you and your doppelgangers."

"We were worried about you, McGee," Ziva said.

"Why?" Tim asked. He tried to keep himself from losing control of his irritation as he had with the shrink. He didn't think it would help matters. He really did want to talk about this rationally and calmly.

"Why? Do you really need to ask that?"

"Yeah, I do, Tony...because at the moment when I was actually in any danger and immediately following that moment, I would have thought you two wanted me to just quit and spare you my incompetency. I didn't get any sense that you were worried about me then. So...why, when I'm fine, are you worried about me now? Why were you so worried about me that you kept calling, that you traced my phone...but you couldn't be bothered to do anything beyond threaten my life? Explain that to me, please, because I just don't get it."

"We were wrong to speak to you that way, McGee," Ziva said after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, you were...no matter _what_ I did wrong. You shouldn't have treated me like that, but do you realize how often it happens? I don't understand why."

"I'm...not sure I know either, really, McGee," Tony confessed.

"Do you at least get why I don't much appreciate it?"

Both Tony and Ziva looked uncomfortable. Tim wasn't feeling exactly comfortable himself, but he didn't back down.

"Do you?"

"Yeah," Tony said and laughed a little. "Yeah, McGee, I get that much. That's why I was worried. We went over the line."

"Yeah, you did."

"Would you accept an apology, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"I might...if one was offered." He smiled slightly.

Ziva stood up from her desk and walked over to Tim. Then, she stuck out her hand.

"I am sorry, McGee. I should not have spoken as I did. Will you accept my apology?"

Tim looked at her hand for a moment. Then, he took it. "Yeah. I'll accept it."

Tony looked even more awkward as he stood up. "McGee, I'm...sorry for teasing you about that conference thing. I knew I'd gone too far."

"You usually do," Tim said.

"Yeah. I can't guarantee that I won't do it again."

"As long as you don't expect me to just take it," Tim returned.

Tony smiled tentatively and then grinned. "Give it back, McGee. I can take it."

"Okay."

"We really were worried about you, McGee...even at the memorial when we were being idiots."

"Next time? Try to express your worry without insulting my existence, okay?"

"I'll work on that."

"You do that." Tim nodded and walked back to his desk. They worked in silence for the rest of the day. When Gibbs released them, Tony paused on his way out.

"McGee, you want to join us?"

Tim considered. "Not tonight. I have some things to catch up on. Thanks. Next time."

Tony nodded and Ziva delayed long enough to come over and touch his arm.

"I am glad you are back, McGee."

"Thanks, Ziva."

Once they were gone, he leaned back. They'd be walking around on tiptoe for a few days, but that was to be expected and then things would edge back toward normal. If he was lucky, though, they might remember and ease back a little.

...and if he was really lucky, he himself might remember to stop taking everything so seriously.

"Timothy, why are you still here?"

Tim smiled. "Just breathing in the ambience, Ducky," he said.

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you."

"I'm feeling a bit better."

"Not completely?"

"No...but better."

"Did you tell them?"

"No."

"And you won't, will you."

"No. Jimmy's right. There are some people who just can't believe. I don't think Tony and Ziva could. Maybe when I'm not so sensitive to what happened."

"But more than likely not," Ducky said with a smile. "I understand. By the way, I received an interesting phone call."

"Did you help him with getting his sister identified?"

"Yes. I made a few calls. The exhumation will happen in a few days and the DNA testing will be done as quickly as possible. He seems certain that she is his sister."

"That's because she is."

"Well, all I can say is that this woman was lucky to have you on her side."

"I think I might have been lucky to have her force me to be on her side."

"Oh?"

"I learned some things. It was...a character-building experience," Tim said with an ironic smile. "One I could have lived without but I think it was something I probably needed."

"We often need what we least want."

"Yeah," Tim said, nodding to himself. "Funny world we live in, Ducky. Stranger than I ever thought it could be. I think I'm glad I know that now."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Eight days later..._

"Okay, okay, Jethro. I know I haven't made up for neglecting you last week, but can't you let me change my clothes first?" Tim asked as Jethro kept nudging him in the back of his legs.

Jethro danced around him, begging to get out.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!"

Together they ran out of the apartment and jogged down to the park. Once there, Tim let him loose and then sat down to watch for a while. As he sat, he suddenly felt a presence behind him. A soft voice in his ear.

"_Thank you."_

He looked back over his shoulder. No one was there. He smiled to himself.

"Thank _you_, Gwen," he whispered.

He heard nothing else...until Jethro came running back and demanded his undivided attention. Tim put that other world out of his mind and focused on this one. He was happy to live in the world that was free of ghosts...

...for now.

FINIS!


End file.
